Sakaar and Away
by PippinStrange
Summary: Peter Parker and Aunt May are on their first solo trip through space to meet the others on Asgard. Things don't quite go as planned. Abducted and kept prisoner, Peter Parker is forced to fight for his life in gladiator games on Sakaar. All he wants is to rescue Aunt May and Michelle Jones and get off planet. Based on the film "Spirited Away" by Hayao Miyazaki. Marvel humor/angst
1. Low Fuel Stop

**Low Fuel Stop**

* * *

The stars streak past like burning fireflies, the ship's speed dropping by a few notches. We're running low on fuel, we'll need to stop somewhere.

"You're doing really well, Peter," Aunt May says. "It's like you've been flying spaceships your whole life."

"Hm," I say lightly.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"What? Oh, I'm sorry, Aunt May. I was thinking."

"About Starlord's offer to sell you that smaller one too? With the pink flame designs graffiti'd all over it? I was thinking about that too. I can't believe I'm saying this in my lifetime - but one spaceship is enough. We're a single family garage for now. Er… single family… launch pad? And we just can't afford it. Even if the exchange rate is higher… _in space."_

I was thinking about Michelle Jones again. I have a small keychain she had given me in high school - a token that you'd use at an old arcade, the kinds that made their own coins. It was sealed in a transparent resin for safety, and hung on small, three link chain and key ring. She had written _PETER PARKER _with sharpie on the back of the covering.

Now it hangs on the upper consoles above the windshield. It's not quite like fuzzy dice on a rear-view mirror, but it's as close as I can get. I take it with me every time we fly. This time _I'm _the pilot, so I get to hang it up.

The key chain stayed with me during high school.

I had it in my pocket when Earth was attacked.

It stays with me here now, in space, with Aunt May and I trying to make a new life here - thanks only in part to the efforts of Avengers and Guardians both. Peter Quill sold us this ship to help us feel established here and started giving me flying lessons.

Thor invited us to some strange Asgardian ceremonial holiday party, so it seemed the right time to let me get us there on our own wings.

It's our first time road tripping - er, space tripping - and all my lessons of flying with Quill seemed have paid off. Aunt May has been taking lessons too (she asked for a different teacher for reasons she refused to disclose) and both of us are novices on our first long trip alone.

MJ would have loved this - flying. But she's dead. She was gone the day the Earth was attacked. No one saw her die, but no one had seen her since. Bodies were still being pulled from the rubble months after the Avengers had defeated the invasion…

"Peter! I swear you're not actually listening at all."

"I'm… not. I'm _really _sorry."

"I would say your head is in the clouds, but we're way past clouds."

"Are you ever going to run out of space jokes?"

"I'll run out when it stops being _weird."_

"It's not that weird…"

"That we're traveling through space without a giant spacesuit to help us breathe like it's _no big deal?" _Aunt May laughs, and gestures to the wide windshield of black expanse, twinkling with cosmic glitter beyond. "I'll never get used to this. I remember when the moon landing was a big deal, you know." She pauses. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing."

"Doesn't seem like nothing." Her brows furrow. "You okay?"

"I was just… thinking about that day when the aliens attacked earth. How many people…" I pause. "How many people died."

May nods and looks away. "A lot of people." She fiddles with a small troll doll that Peter Quill had glued to the dashboard. He said it was tradition or something, whatever that means. "You must miss her."

"Yeah," I say softly. "I miss her."

"A lot of people went missing, you know. Bodies never recovered." Aunt May says this with a look of guilt strangely crossing her face. "She could still be alive."

I blink. "It's been two years, Aunt May. You really think MJ is alive?"

"I don't know," she shrugs. "It's just something Tony and Vision said."

"What did they say?" I ask suspiciously.

"Well, I suggested she might still be alive," May sighs. "And Tony said not to give you false hope. That there was no way she was still alive. But Vision said something that stuck with me. He said that _where there are civilizations, there is always slavery. _We think of human kidnappings and trafficking in terms of just what happens on Earth. But there's a whole universe out there… and people just as bad."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"This is why Tony didn't want me to say anything," she frowns. "But Vision agreed with me. Hundreds and hundreds of people… no, thousands... went missing after the attack. Bodies never recovered from the rubble. Michelle was one of them. Perhaps…" she looks out the window again. "Perhaps she was taken away, and she misses you, too. And maybe we'll find her someday."

I look down at the fuel numbers again. "Thanks for trying to be hopeful, Aunt May. I appreciate it. I do."

"Now," she says, "As I was saying, we are not buying that smaller junkcraft from Starlord. Not yet anyway."

"You _don't _have to call him Starlord. He only makes people call him that when they're being gullible and he wants to feel important."

"Oh. well. It's easier than calling him Peter. Or _Mr. Quill. _Neither of those work for me." She reaches over and pats my arm. "I only have one Peter in my life and I'm perfectly happy with that."

"Do you miss New York?" I ask abruptly.

She rests her hands in her lap, fiddling with the edge of her light yellow sweater. "Every day. What about you?"

"Yeah. I do."

The ship drops significantly in speed - the stars that looked like firefly tails are now slow-moving globes beyond. The blushing cosmic clouds of glittering pink are now stationary.

"What's wrong?" Aunt May asks quickly, her voice tightening into worry-panic mode.

"Nothing!" I assure her quickly. "We need a fuel stop." I look at her. "It's _okay, _this is normal. And we're within range of _plenty _of planets to go to."

"What's the closest one?"

"Uh… well, I was thinking we could stop at Golemdaal since I've been there before with Quill. But Sakaar is closest."

"What do you know about Sakaar?"

"Well, nothing, really, except it's now accessible per Thor's command. They used to have this big space-whirlpool thing to keep people from being able to fly in… and like, portals from other dimensions all over the place used to dump their garbage here."

"It doesn't sound very friendly."

"Yeah, but Thor found a way to get rid of that. Open atmosphere now. That's where Valkyrie is from, I think. That's where they met. She lived there for years."

"Oh," Aunt May brightens. She likes Valkyrie, all of the two times she met her, and trusts her implicitly. "Well, if that's Valkyrie's home, I don't see any reason why we can't stop."

"Sounds cool. Let's do it."

I punch in the numbers and feel the gentle tilt of the ship, nose pointing towards one small circle of light that shines just a little brighter than the others.

Sakaar; here we come.

* * *

...

* * *

**Next: **Sakaar is a very strange place. Perhaps not very safe.

* * *

**Dear Readers,**

**If you enjoyed this, please leave me a review and let me know if you find this interesting! I had a totally weird psychotic sort of idea to do yet another film rewrite in the Marvel universe - this time, a retelling of Hayao Miyazaki's "SPIRITED AWAY" - a darker version set in space. Before I knew it I had written three scenes. Then three short chapters. And then SIX short chapters. Writing new little scenes every day. If you are into this, let me know. I'll keep posting, haha.**

**Love,**

**Pip**

* * *

**Other Marvel Stories You Can Read!**

Avenge the Departed - *COMPLETE!* An epic undercover thriller starring Peter Parker, Deadpool, Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes and Captain America. Peter Parker is planted as an undercover agent for Captain America in the Vulture's illegal weapon's manufacturing crime syndicate. Deadpool has joined the Avengers as Steve's wise cracking, undead partner. Bucky Barnes has come back from the ice, under Hydra's complete control and no one knows. Based on Martin Scorsese's THE DEPARTED.

The Departed - a repost of the above story (crime and undercover thriller) in a different Avengers category to try and reach more audiences

The Vast Marvel - collection of Marvel one shots! I suggest adding this story to an "alert" for when I post short drabbles!

Deadpool is Pissed - humorous one shot featuring Deadpool, Peter Parker, and Korg.

Down Came the Rain - my first fully fledged Spider-Man fic, starring other Avengers as well. Peter is kidnapped by a rogue NYPD cop, tortured for information on the Avengers, and released. He copes badly with the psychological aftermath. Interlude book between Spider-Man: Homecoming and Infinity War. Told in flash backs and flash forwards like 13 Reasons Why.

Down Came the Rain Retold - a repost of the above fic, and may I say, the far superior version. Told chronologically, scenes are added and expanded, plot holes and timelines fixed, characterization added... easier to read, track with. Plot and character growth is more obvious.

Into Oblivion - EPIC across-the-galaxy AU. Peter Parker's uncle left him an infinity stone, and he'll have to do whatever it takes to get it off planet and destroy it before Thanos can return. Adventure starring many other Avengers and based on The Fellowship of the Ring.

That One Time Peter Parker Accidentally Did Cocaine - yup, based on another crazy dream I had. One shot. Title is exactly how it sounds haha. Peter does drugs, and his totally (alive!) Dad is not happy about it - for more reasons than one. Tony Stark is even worse.


	2. The Sixth Station

**The Sixth Station**

* * *

The surface of the planet, dark gray and blocky, begins to light our view of dark space with rays of light.

The ship shudders a little with turbulence, and Aunt May grips the arms of her seat with one hand, and the safety strap across her chest with the other.

"It's okay, May!" I say, a little too loudly.

"Don't yell at me," she barks back.

"There's a little bit left of those wormholes, I think," I reply, rattling off what I know. "Just some of the resulting storms trapped in the mesosphere - sort of like a mild hurricane, now that the portals don't exist in every pocket… They were able to force them to condense, shut down, or move to other areas of the atmosphere with magnetic fields on the surface, so landing should be relatively safe…"

"Should be?" she repeats. "SHOULD?"

"Now you're yelling," I reply, gripping the controller and throttle with white-knuckled hands.

The ship drops convulsively into the stratosphere, and Aunt May lets out a small shriek.

"Seriously, it's, it's okay, the air is just rough," I reply loudly. "We're going to be fine."

We begin to descend in a cloudy gray bank, and the turbulence eases up, though it doesn't disappear entirely. We break through the wall of clouds to get a fully engrossing view of Sakaar's surface.

It's been cleaned up quite a bit since Thor used his kingly influence to establish some new environmental guidelines over surrounding planets, but it's still a bit of a mess. Huge piles of junk and garbage are in very large (but somehow neatly ordered) piles in designated dumping areas, much like the landfill cities from developing countries back on earth. But there are other areas of striking color, huge chrome skyscrapers, statues, streaks of painted neon colors on the buildings in a downtown district. They are bustling with color and life, crowds and markets, spirals of smoke rising from public squares and ports crammed with machinery and ships. I pull the throttle towards me to ease up on the speed, kicking the landing gear shift in below the console. At the last minute, I remember to switch from "forward" to "hover mode" so I can land on an empty launch pad without driving the ship nose-first into the landing station.

I bring the ship in a partial turn to angle the wings away from the outbuildings, underestimating how far away I actually am. I'm nowhere near hitting anything, but better safe than sorry, I guess.

There are other matching launch pads, each in an octagon-shape, spread away from us like a cluster outline. Other ships rest peacefully in their centers, various station-masters waving at the pilots or watching the sky with something like binoculars.

One such person runs out of the tiny outbuilding I was trying to avoid with the wings, waving at my ship just as it settles on the metallic surface with one last sigh of exhaust and a groan of winding-down engines.

I feel a sense of unease skitter through my stomach.

"Happy landings," May exclaims. "Well done."

"See?" I manage a grin. "Told you we were okay."

"So do they put the gas in for us?" Aunt May asks.

"Well… it's not… gas."

"I forgot," Aunt May giggles. "Spaceship _fuel_. Astronaut… juice."

I shudder and giggle. "No. NO. Please."

I unclip my belt and stretch out of the pilot's chair, reaching up and unclipping the keychain from MJ from the console, tucking it into my pocket.

"You won't ever leave that behind, will you?" asks Aunt May.

"Nope," I reply cheerfully. "Never." I see a figure waiting with an impatient pose, foot tapping, through the pilot window. "Let me step outside real quick and talk to this guy."

"I'll come with you," she says.

"Um, why don't you stay here," I suggest.

She stops. "Or I go with you. Unless," she raises one eyebrow. "Unless you don't think it's really all that safe here."

I shrug. "It's perfectly safe."

"Great. Then I'm coming too." She unclips her safety belt and follows me.

I shrug and head back for the small bay to our exit door, a lowering ramp the size of a large couch. I hit the punch the ramp code in to the system. The screen blinks green and the ramp groans with hydraulic shrieks, clanking onto the launch pad surface.

I tug my jacket sleeves down to hide my web shooters a little better. While they've had every upgrade that both Stark and Starlord could provide, they are still a little too obviously _hardware _concealed in reddish, buffed metal wrist braces.

"Greetings, greetings," says the figure waiting at the bottom of the ramp. He's tall, like, _really _tall, maybe six foot five, wearing a long black cloak and a bright red headdress. His face looks partially human, except his ears have slight points that are turned downward, like a labrador. His skin is a mildly pale green color, eyes brown, and has a long gold stripe painted down his forehead, his nose, and his chin. He carries a small ledger.

"Hello," Aunt May says nervously. She edges towards me, trying not to act clingy.

"Hey, we need to refuel," I say, maybe a little too loudly. "Can you… let me know what the cost would be?"

"Certainly, certainly young masters," the figure eyes me up and down as if I'm the last Christmas tree at the lot on December twenty-fourth. He then gives Aunt May the same condescending, curious look. He then whips open his ledger and runs a long, wraith-like finger down a column. His nails are long, pointed, and slightly curved. No - not nails. Claws.

His voice is creaky, like an old salty sailor in a kid's cartoon. "Ah, yes, yes, a class C M-ship…" he looks suspiciously at May and I. "You aren't Ravagers."

"No, no, we're not," I say quickly. "Bought the ship used from one of the Guardians of the Galaxy."

He raises a solid white eyebrow, eyes squinting.

"One of the heroes who defeated Ronan the Accuser," Aunt May says quickly, giving me a side eye to see if she was getting it right. I nod encouragingly. "We're Midgardians on our way to Asgard."

The man immediately stops caring, though I'm not sure if it's because we're name dropping famous heroes or because of our place of origin. He pulls out a small pen to write in his ledger. "Ship name?"

"Xenesthis," I answer.

Aunt May snickers. It's the proper scientific name from one of the largest spider-breeds. I figured no one is going to hear the name and think Spider-Man is the pilot - especially since, thank God, so far there are no spiders in space. As far as I know.

The man cranks his eyebrows again and scribbles in his ledger as if someone asked him to do long division and he only knows how to count to ten.

I lean over slightly to read what he wrote upside-down.

_ZENTHEZ_.

Eh, close enough. I lean back and grin at Aunt May. She grimaces as if trying to hold back laughter.

"That'll be, uh, uh," he taps his clawed fingers. "Thirty units."

Aunt May quickly hands him three small, silver discs. They are shaped like rectangles, almost the size of credit cards, but thicker. They have a small weird symbol embossed in the center that - in English - means the number ten. At least multiplication is the same in space, the currency fairly easy to understand.

"Thank you, thank you," the man tucks them into a red pouch at his belt. "Your ship should be finished refueling in about fourteen minutes. You may step down from the landing and get out of the wind."

"What wind?"

He glares at me for asking. "Wind."

Aunt May waves her hand. "It's fine. We'll wait right here."

"Suit yourself," the man shakes his head with annoyance, and bends down and rests on the backs of his ankles. He presses a hand firmly onto the floor, and a small lighted console appears under the metallic surface of the launch pad, as if that area suddenly became transparent. He begins to press buttons and make swiping motions like it's an iphone, and the outline of a square appears about six feet away. The lining of the square grows darker and darker until it is clearly the outline of a small trap door.

He runs over, sticks his fingers into the seam, and lifts the square. Underneath is a coiled hose, which he unwinds, jogs over to the _Xenesthis _and unlatches the fuel door. He plugs the hose into the cylindrical hole, twists it till it clicks into place, and then releases it. He stands by, tapping his foot.

Suddenly another starship blasts by us to land on the pad next to ours, and the wind of exhaust from the tail-engines nearly shoot Aunt May clear off the pad to a solid six-foot drop to the street below.

She lets out a brief scream of surprise, but I reach out and snag her arm before she can fly anywhere. I plant my other hand on the pad to stick ourselves to it, a part of my brain relieved that I don't have to exercise the same caution of using my powers in front of people like I did before. People in space just assume I installed magnets in my fingertips, or that my arms aren't human to begin with. It's easier.

The attendant is laughing and pointing at us, then he points to the landing ship nearby. "WIND," he repeats, and the laughter grows louder. "Midgardians never learn! Wind is wind is wind! HA!"

"Come on," I groan, hoisting Aunt May back to her feet. "Let's wait on the ground."

"Jesus," Aunt May pushes her hair out of her eyes. "Fine. Wind. He couldn't say; blast of hot air in your face at fifty miles an hour. That would be too helpful."

"See ya in thirteen minutes," chuckles the attendant, smiling unpleasantly. For some reason, the hair on the back of my neck rises.

...

* * *

...

* * *

**Next:** Peter and May wander into the markets to explore. This was widely regarded as a bad move.

* * *

If you enjoyed, please leave a review!

* * *

**Other Marvel Stories You Can Read!**

Avenge the Departed - *COMPLETE!* An epic undercover thriller starring Peter Parker, Deadpool, Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes and Captain America. Peter Parker is planted as an undercover agent for Captain America in the Vulture's illegal weapon's manufacturing crime syndicate. Deadpool has joined the Avengers as Steve's wise cracking, undead partner. Bucky Barnes has come back from the ice, under Hydra's complete control and no one knows. Based on Martin Scorsese's THE DEPARTED.

The Departed - a repost of the above story (crime and undercover thriller) in a different Avengers category to try and reach more audiences

The Vast Marvel - collection of Marvel one shots! I suggest adding this story to an "alert" for when I post short drabbles!

Deadpool is Pissed - humorous one shot featuring Deadpool, Peter Parker, and Korg.

Down Came the Rain - my first fully fledged Spider-Man fic, starring other Avengers as well. Peter is kidnapped by a rogue NYPD cop, tortured for information on the Avengers, and released. He copes badly with the psychological aftermath. Interlude book between Spider-Man: Homecoming and Infinity War. Told in flash backs and flash forwards like 13 Reasons Why.

Down Came the Rain Retold - a repost of the above fic, and may I say, the far superior version. Told chronologically, scenes are added and expanded, plot holes and timelines fixed, characterization added... easier to read, track with. Plot and character growth is more obvious.

Into Oblivion - EPIC across-the-galaxy AU. Peter Parker's uncle left him an infinity stone, and he'll have to do whatever it takes to get it off planet and destroy it before Thanos can return. Adventure starring many other Avengers and based on The Fellowship of the Ring.

That One Time Peter Parker Accidentally Did Cocaine - yup, based on another crazy dream I had. One shot. Title is exactly how it sounds haha. Peter does drugs, and his totally (alive!) Dad is not happy about it - for more reasons than one. Tony Stark is even worse.


	3. Taken Away

**Taken Away**

* * *

Aunt May and I explore the small market below at ground level. Dirt streets wind between technicolor buildings that look more like old, metal totes built for giants, stacked on top of each other and haphazardly designed in chrome metal and painted neon borders. It's crowded with all kinds of people - aliens, humans, aliens that look like humans, and creatures that are probably just other kinds of aliens.

Coming from earth, it's a little overwhelming, and I don't protest when Aunt May nervously links her arm through mine, as if we're about to start humming _Jolly Holiday _as we peruse the open-air booths and tents crammed into the smokey alleys.

Whatever the smoke is coming from, it smells _delicious. _Like some sort of thai food - the good kind.

"Do you _smell _that?" Aunt May inhales deeply.

"I was just thinking it reminds me of getting dinner at SriPraPhai with Uncle Ben…"

"Maybe we should… get lunch," Aunt May grins. "While we wait." She is feeling brave enough - or maybe just hungry enough - to unlink her arm and duck into one of the wide, bright alleys, booths and tents crammed on either side with smoke wafting from beneath and colorful canvases and all types of people speaking in languages I don't understand. Some of them are just sounds, like chirps and barks and whistles.

"Hello," she says excitedly to one of the patrons, a tall male that looks like a seahorse in a suit, with two arms on each side of his body instead of fins. "What are you selling?"

The seahorse opens his mouth and lets out a shrill sound that sounds like a cat yowling underwater. I swear bubbles might pop out of his mouth at any moment.

"Oh, um," Aunt May takes a step back awkwardly. "I'm… I'm sorry…?"

The seahorse waves her further down the line, letting out another gurgle, and points.

"That… that way?" asks Aunt May weakly.

The seahorse nods, then screams. "_SHREEEEE-LUBUBUBBULLEL…"_

"Thank you so much," I say, unnecessarily loudly, pushing Aunt May further down the path.

"He seemed nice," she whispered hesitantly.

"We are way out of our league," I giggle. "Squeeeee lubba-lubba…"

"You stop that _right now." _Aunt May smacks my arm away and purposefully holds her head up higher when she approaches the next tent.

A woman that looks similar to Gamora works over a small outdoor stove. She is the same species; a _Zen-Whoberis_, a green-skinned alien wearing a dark purple robe with silver tattoos on her cheeks.

"Travelers," she purrs when she sees us. "You've come all the way to _my _tent! Those of us who don't get a place near the front suffer loss of customers. Customers stop too soon, alas, too soon." She wipes her hands clean on a towel and grabs two bowls. "What will you have?"

"We… we don't know what's good," Aunt May admits. "We're new."

"Ah," the woman sets aside the bowls. "Nothing rich, nothing _too _rich. Midgardian accents. You would like some familiarity, yes? Try this _bread. _I've created replicas of _dumplees." _

She takes two breaded… dumplings… and places them on a plate, holding them out to us.

"How much?" Aunt May asks.

"No, no, samples. You like them, I'll sell you more."

Aunt May accepts the plate. I take one dumpling and she takes the other, and she bites into it right away, but I hesitate.

My brain is wildly racking with everything that could go wrong. What if certain alien species prefer to serve food at, like, a thousand degrees? Like we take a bite and our tongue melts right out and our jaw disintegrates? And their DNA can handle it and we can't? What if their version of _flour _is actually dust from their version of cocaine? What if they use something they call salt, but for us, it's actually crystallized space-snails? How do we _know?_

Aunt May breaks into a huge smile. "This is very good," she says, giving me an odd look. "_I _like it. But why… why are you…" She replaces the half-eaten dumpling on the place, and then touches her forehead, at if checking for a fever. "Funny, I feel full. Like I couldn't eat another thing… ever."

"Um, okay, you're making me nervous," I quickly put my dumpling back on the plate, and then I take the plate out of May's hand and hand it back to the woman.

The _Zen-Whoberis _only considers me with a critical expression. "You don't like my food?" she asks, crisply.

"What's in it?" I ask, fighting to keep the rising pitch out of my voice.

Aunt May stands there, suddenly blank and sullen, like a child who forgot the letters during a spelling bee. "What time is it?" she asks. "We… we should go. We don't want to be late." She gives the alleyway a confused look. "Where are we going again? Why are we here?"

"What did you put in this?" I demand, my sense of polite control flitting away. I slam the plate back onto her table beside the stove. "Why is she talking like this?"

The _Zen-Whoberis _turns away, laughing lightly. "I forget," she sighs. "You Midgardians are so easily susceptible."

"Aunt May, we're leaving, _NOW," _I grab Aunt May's elbow and start to push her back into the crowd.

"Stay," whispers the Zen.

Aunt May's feet seem to root to the ground, so suddenly that I nearly knock us both over.

"Aunt May!" I say loudly, my panic overriding sense. I circle around till I'm in front of her, waving my hands over her empty expression. Her eyes are glazed over and staring at nothing, as if she'd gone suddenly blind. "AUNT MAY! LOOK AT ME!"

"She can't _hear _you or see you," the Zen calls to me, without even looking at us. "Sometimes our food will have that effect on people. _Terribly _sorry."

"Aunt May, stop this, come on," I exclaim. She doesn't answer, and she can't move.

I try to tug at her, then grab her and push hard.

"Ouch, you're hurting me," Aunt May says in a monotone. But there's no indication she knows that she is speaking, or that she knows she's speaking to _me _at all.

"Sorry, Aunt May, but we need to leave!" I say loudly. I finally wrap my arms around her and try to lift her into the 's like grabbing a small tree, deeply grown. I can't even lift her, like she's standing in solidifying cement. I can't move her unless I break both her legs - whatever is happening - whatever _this _is - she's trapped.

"Can someone help us?" I shout. "Help me - please - she's stuck - she's…" I pause, and feel horror writhing through my veins.

The entire alleyway market has gone dead silent. Not a single alien comes forward to respond to my cry, because not one of them are here to buy food like we were.

Somehow, they are all in this together. The entire crowd. Every alien, every strange garb and robe, every colorful mask. They all stand quietly, with expectant regard, watching the exchange. Some of them smiling.

My skin feels clammy, hot and icy both.

"What is this?" I ask.

No answer. They all watch me, their eyes trained on me, then Aunt May, and then the Zen.

"This will all go a lot faster if you have one little bite," the Zen urges, her white smile sickeningly wide. "Or we can do this the hard way."

"Bring on the hard way," I snarl. I grab Aunt May's arm protectively, forgetting for a moment my super-strength.

"You're hurting me, little boy," Aunt May says, thin and static.

My heart gives a painful lurch of fear. "May. You… you know who I am, don't you?"

She doesn't meet my eyes.

"It's me, Peter. Can't you hear me?"

She stares over my shoulder at nothing, lids heavy, pupils unfocused.

"What the HELL did you do?" I launch at the Zen's table. "What did you GIVE to her?" I shove the stove off the table, and it breaks into pieces on the ground, spilling hot coals and tiny flames out into the dirt.

The Zen backs away from me, not entirely afraid, but rather, self-perserving and annoyed at having to be. "Strangers think they're so high and mighty," she growls at me, baring her white teeth. "Greedy Midgardians, snatching up our grub, big mouths, big tongues, lashing and gnashing…" she pulls a long knife from her belt. "Fat Midgardians always hungry and never smart enough to tell themselves _NO."_

I activate my webshooter, thrusting out my hand. The web jettisons across the table, sticks to the blade, and yanks it out of her hand and right back to me.

I catch the handle in my fist, and point the knife in her direction. "Fix what you did to Aunt May, and I _won't _kill you."

Suddenly silent audience of market-dwellers are no longer bystanding in blissful passiveness. Erupting in a demonic cacaphony of cheers and jeers, every single one of them rush at us at the same time, arms extended. They launch themselves at me like a tidal wave of limbs and screams and grasping hands, knocking me to the ground before I can fully leap out of the way - which my spider-senses try to warn me to do, but with no clear direction. Leaping out of the way from the people behind pushes me into the ones in front, and the sides, and some even dropping onto all fours and grabbing onto my ankles. There's hundreds of languages and voices and shouting all at once, and I feel like I'm drowning in the world's worst mosh pit.

They're the same to Aunt May, only she doesn't struggle at all. In the onslaught of the mob, someone points something like a remote at her, and she collapses like a limp noodle into the arms of the Seahorse.

I'm ripping, tearing, growling and twisting every which way, punching and fighting my way out, pushing people over and jumping onto their fallen bodies to leap over the head of the next one.

There's so many of them all at once that it takes me far too long to get a wrist above the crowd, shoot a stream of web to the topmost corner of the building, and zip-line myself out. Twisting in midair, I land with my back slammed against the wall, one hand plastered to the metal behind me to keep me perched in place.

I sent another stream of web into the crowd, perfectly encasing Aunt May in a sort of small handprint-shaped cocoon. I start to pull back, but the crowd leaps onto the web, sticking themselves to it, weighing it down like a clothesline between the apartments in Brooklyn with too many sweatshirts hanging on it.

"Get off!" I scream. "Assholes!" I pull my arm back, and Aunt May's yellow sweater flies into the air. I clench my fists and leap off the building again, not caring who I hurt, punching and grabbing and throwing people out of my way. I manage to even get the Searhorse by the throat, squeezing just hard enough to make him afraid as I shove him backwards away from Aunt May's limp form, now sliding to the ground like she's passing out but not quite there yet.

My arms snake around her, clenching her tightly to my chest, and I throw my arm out for a second attempt, the web _thwips _into open air -

I feel a sudden jab of pain as something small and metal sticks to the side of my neck just under my ear. My hand automatically goes to the source, feeling something hard and coin-sized clamped into my skin.

Within a hot second of blinding, flashing shocks, a buzz of electrocution runs through my entire body, _and _May, _and _anyone still trying to grab at us and hold us back from the web. Several aliens fall back with groans and exclamations of anger.

Lightning bolts crackle with animated, sizzling energy all up and down my arms, like getting tazed only ten times worse - knocking me flat out onto the ground, stiffening and loosening up my joints in horrible spasms, and Aunt May collapses right along side of me. Her body jerks around on the ground with electrical pulses, completely limp and mouth slack.

"M-M-May," I cry. My body tightens with another bout of electricity, and I scream through clenched teeth, my back arching and bending me high into the air and then slamming me back on the ground. "May. It's going to be okay. I'll get… you…"

I can't finish my sentence. Darkness encroaches on the edges of my vision, bleeding out the corners in black swarms. I focus on Aunt May's unconscious face, pressed into the dirt ground.

I whisper, "I'll… get you…"

Blackness, oppressive and complete.

_Home._

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**Review Replies**

LoonyLovegood1981 - LOL I didn't even think about that, apparently I am! Yay for the end of the world?! XD I guess it makes sense when I want to write about Peter Parker in space, it makes sense to give him a really big reason to NOT be living and spidering in New York anymore - like - maybe New York isn't there anymore? Solid observation, that cracks me up. I think maybe a LOT of the MCU is canon in this - except for a few things, like, some of the events of Ragnarok are screwed up, and the Grandmaster doesn't die, and maybe the events in Infinity War didn't happen. I'm not sure, I guess I'll have to see Endgame before committing ;) Thank you so much for your review! Hope you enjoy!

Tightpants182 - I'm definitely gonna go pretty dark for this one. I don't think any darker than Down Came the Rain or Avenge the Departed, but we'll see. I know the way I'm translating the "pig pen" for Sen's enchanted parents in the animated film, for this Sakaarian version, is gonna go HELLA dark. I want Sakaar to have a sort of nightmarish, dreamlike quality about it, just like the movie, so that at times it will feel beautiful and interesting, and other times it will feel positively horrific. Thanks so much for your reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying!


	4. Enemy of my Enemy

**Dear Readers,**

**Hello, all you silent favorites-and-follows! I see you and I salute you! Thank you so much for sharing some love over the last few days, I am glad you are enjoying my story. Feel free to pop me a review if you love it and want to read more. I know I'm certainly having way too much fun with this. Thanks so much for reading!**

**Pip**

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**...**

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**Enemy of my Enemy**

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I am lying on a cold, marble floor. I lift my head and look wildly around, my vision blurry and my limbs leadened. I'm in a sort of long, rotund hallway. The walls curve up ahead to the left, and the walls above my head bend inward to meet in an arch overhead. It almost feels like a hall in a ship, constructed with gold and black metal inlaid with cross-hatch designs. There's scratched writing and graffiti all over the black areas, and chunks of dirt and rock on the floor, as if someone tracked in the outdoors after a muddy hike.

"Ow," I mumble, turning onto my side and bracing myself with one elbow. It takes me a moment to recall what happened. Thor's party… Fuel on Sakaar… the market...

May.

I let out a sudden cry of fear and surprise, pushing myself up to my knees with both palms. My head swims with black specks and warm, honey-liquid sloshing. My wrists are bare… my webshooters are gone.

"What kind of moron with powers gets himself kidnapped on Sakaar?" asks a growly voice.

I lift my chin slowly.

Rocket leans on the wall, filing his claws with a small rock.

"What kind of raccoon gives himself a manicure?" I whisper hoarsely.

He glares at me, his small furry eyebrows pinching together nearly to his snout. "Hey, I'm working with what weapons I have, all-right?" He spits on his claws and resumes. "I asked you a question, Parks."

"It's Parker."

"Oh. _Riiight. _Still don't care."

"They took my aunt," I say, sitting back on my ankles and reaching behind me, my hand finding the bowed wall till I can use it to help me stand. I lean heavily against it, shutting my eyes. I tilt my head back against the wall and take a steadying breath.

"That lady that gave me the cigarette lighter?" Rocket asks.

"...yeah."

"Oh… jeeze," I can tell he feels bad, by the way his ears flick backwards for a moment like a dog that just got whipped. But they perk up quickly enough. "Well, good news is, she ain't in here."

"How is that good news?" I crack one eye open. "I don't know _where they took her."_

"_RELAX," _Rocket admonishes. "It's good news, because, the bad news is, _you're _in here."

"Just because I'm in here and it's _bad, _doesn't make her missing _good," _I exclaim.

"Naw, you don't get it, but you'll get it soon enough," Rocket sighs. "Anyone out _there _has it better than we do in _here." _

"Stop being so vague, Rocket," I snap. "How'd _you _get in here, huh? You're conveniently leaving that out, among any other information that might actually be helpful."

"Sons of bitches jumped me," Rocket says with a shrug, as if it is no big deal.

"Was it _after _you landed and ate some of their compliance happy meals?" I snap.

Rocket bares his teeth.

"Don't play games with me, Rocket. Please just tell me what's going on."

"All right, _all right…" _Rocket sighs. "Look. They got us in 'ere because the grandmaster likes fighters. They put us in this room thingy till it's our turn and then we fight in this stadium. It's their entertainment 'round here."

"It's the Hunger Games," I whisper in horror.

"Yer tellin' me. They don't let us eat before the fights, don't want us gettin sick and disrupting the general enjoyahabilities of this place."

"Enjoyment," I correct quietly.

"You know I ain't gonna stick my neck out for you," Rocket says. "When I find my own way out, I find my own way out. I'm not gonna stay and play Operation _Rescue the Idiots._"

"That's fine," I say shortly. "When you manage to find some exhaust vent and shimmy through, just do me a favor and tell _someone _we're in danger."

"Ha. I'm sure _you're _in danger. Your aunt is probably fine. Gettin' a makeupper and passed around the high society elite…"

"Passed around?" I repeat darkly.

"Yeah, like, shown around town?" Rocket shrugs. "Like a tour or somethin?"

"I can't do this, I can't be trapped here with you," I turn and begin walking down the hall, still feeling the wobble of dizziness pounding in my ears.

"There's no point," Rocket calls behind me - no, ahead of me. I follow the curve of the hall away from I was, only to arrive right back where I started. It's a circle…?

Rocket throws back his head and laughs at me.

"It's not _funny,_" I turn and march back, rounding the curve and arriving at his laughing figure once again. "This is scientifically impossible. The hall is too… long here to be a full circle."

"Screw science! You're in _space. _You and your aunt both, _jeeeezus_. You probably ended up here because you blabbed to everyone that you were from Midgard. Midgardians are the easiest to rob and kidnap, erry'body knows that."

I open my mouth to snark back and call him an asshole, but I purse my lips shut and turn away. I'm not going to make an enemy out of one of the Guardians. Not if I plan on getting out.

"If you don't mind," I say instead, my head pounding, "If you escape…"

"When."

"Okay, _when _you escape. Just tell Tony Stark we're prisoners here and need a ride."

"Why Stark?" Rocket gives me a miffed, _what the actual fuck _expression. "He's just as likely to end up in this hall as you are. He's too entitled for this shit. He'd probably demand a meeting with the Grandmaster and offer him a few bucks. Which I can tell you now, is a _bad idea."_

"Probably because Mr. Stark is the only one who is going to take this seriously," I sigh. "Thor would probably wish me luck on my feats of strength… Quill would take bets on how quickly I'll die…"

"Oh, not just Quill, I'm already on it."

Suddenly one of the crosshatch designs on the wall slides apart, seamlessly becoming a blast door like Star Wars, and a person falls inside onto the floor. I leap for the open door automatically, but I feel a blast of electrical shock slam into my chest and limbs. It shoves me backwards against the wall where I slam hard, and then painfully crumple to the floor.

"Ow," I groan, holding my arms protectively over my ribs. They feel bruised.

"That's how they control you, you dunce," Rocket admonishes. "Don't do it too much and it'll keep putting your lights out!" He runs over to the girl, his tiny clawed feet tapping the hard floor. He stands impatiently by her head, where a huge mop of curly, ash-brown hair obscures her face.

"Did they tell ya how long they're gonna keep us waiting in here?" Rocket demands.

The hair is brushed aside by an arm made of magenta-pink skin, and a pair of bright, piercing eyes with irses that could almost be greenish gold meet Rocket's gaze with pure fury.

"Of course they told me _nothing!_" the woman growls, pushing herself off the floor. Her accent sounds like a mix of midwestern and French. She's wearing a very American-looking summer camp T-shirt and a pair of cargo pants. "I am just _here _to announce the games."

"It's not like the name ever changes," Rocket says with annoyance. "It's called the Contest of Champions! What do they even need you for?"

"It's called staying alive," she snaps.

"Who are you?" I ask, pushing myself back against the wall again.

"Bereet, this is Peter. Peter, Bereet," Rocket swings his hand back and forth. "Great. Now we're all introduced assholes instead of stranger-assholes."

"I've had my fill of Peters," Bereet rolls her eyes.

"I'll bet you have," Rocket bursts into chuckles that he tries to hold back.

Bereet holds a small, rectangular gold piece in her hand that looks like the clip of a handgun. "Make dirty jokes all you like," she says, "Say it again and I'll blast you."

Rocket is still giggling. "She and Quill used to have a _thing," _he says to me. "Well, one thing, anyway."

Suddenly the raccoon drops like lead to the ground, looking like he's having a seizure.

Bereet smiles at her golden clip, and hits the button again.

Rocket is screeching out expletives - at least, as much as he can between teeth-clenching electrical bursts.

"Hey, come on," I protest. "Leave him alone. He's got a dumb mouth but he's harmless."

"HARMLESS," Rocket repeats, "Ya' big dumb father-mucker. Gimme just one item of firepower and I'll show ya harmless!"

Bereet lifts her hand off the button. "I didn't come in here to hurt either of you."

"Then why'd _you _get a trigger?" I ask.

She points it at me. "Come and _try _to take it."

Rocket spits and hisses angrily, pushing himself to his feet and popping his knuckles.

"I don't want it," I protest. "Why do you have it?"

"What do you think?" Bereet asks with a sigh. "I wave a flag around and play eye-candy while I point at the champions. They need a place to _store _me till the next one. But they don't throw me in here amongst whomever is strong and angry enough to participate without some way to stay alive."

"We're not going to hurt you," I say quickly. "As long as you're here. You have nothing to worry about from _me." _Rocket mumbles an expletive under his breath, and I glare at him, "From US."

"I'm just supposed to stay in here till the next game."

"What's the next game?" I ask.

She gives me a once over with her vampiric sort of gaze, the expression quickly turning from one of curiosity and hope, to boredom and disappointment, once she notices my age and size.

"Yours," she sighs.

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**Reviewer Replies**

Tightpants182 - thank you so much for your review! Yeah I'm not going to be nice to May in this story unfortunately... I FEEL BADLY ABOUT THAT

EleanorGardner - LOL you're so sweet! hopefully you enjoyed the surprise appearance of one of the guardians. Thanks so much for reading! It means so much!

LoonyLovegood1981 - The wait for Endgame is totally killing me too lol. Now that I've seen Captain Marvel it's even worse! :D I must force myself to be patient and use the pain to write ;) I am so glad you're enjoying this story! Thank you for reading and reviewing!


	5. Meet the Grandmaster

**Meet the Grandmaster**

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_Welcome to Sakaar._

Without even so much as a goodbye or warning of any kind, the doors slide open again, and I am pulled out by two guards, and the door shuts behind us - effectively cutting off anything that Rocket may have yelled out after us.

Not sure if I heard _good luck, _or _good riddance. _

They shove me through a strange series of rooms, open type of storage chambers with racks of all kinds of weapons hanging up. I catch the sounds of music and laughter.

I think I see a bar or a pub of some kind beyond the weapons room, only visible between long, pink poles of energy keeping the prisoners separate from everyone else. They push me into another hallway, similar designs on every wall, cutting off my view.

Before I know it, I'm strapped to a chair. I don't bother fighting back, because of the thing stuck to my neck. While inside I'm _freaking out, _I also don't think that this chair will kill me. Maybe it leads me to a big stadium where I play the grandmaster's game and _that _kills me, but the chair itself is harmless.

The chair moves forward like it's on a track. Like a sick, twisted and demented ride in a theme park, into a tunnel. But not just any old tunnel. It's like a movie theater, with screens on the sides, but the screens don't feel like they're containing me as I'm moving forward. They feel more like windows, letting me look into space, as an automated voice begins to recite the history of Sakaar.

Ookay… maybe the chair itself is harmless. But I'm not prepared for... propaganda.

Words blare in a loudspeaker somewhere I can't see, a feminine voice introducing me to the greatness of the Grandmaster as if he's Willy Wonka and I'm lucky enough to be Charlie aiming for the chocolate factory.

Big, holographic images blare by, huge 3D planets and stars, a shadow of the Grandmaster, and happy looking people free from sadness and what not. How great the Grandmaster is and how we're all honored to be his prisoners, blah blah blah. Might as well be chanting _Hail Hydra. _Wait, does Hydra even exist in space? Or are they self-contained to the sect of a Nazi party in Earth's history, fighting off Captain America and trying to upgrade themselves with alien weapons?

The last image of a huge, rocky planet blasts in my face, the kaleidoscope of colors dancing around like a drug trip or a music video. I feel totally discombobulated when I blink and find myself still strapped to the chair, but I'm sitting in a throne room.

The tunnel is gone, the images and voice-overs are gone.

It's a big room. Spacious, marble, clean. Various aliens milling about - there's a bar on the far left of the room, a small band playing funky electronic music on the right, huge gaping windows along the entire back wall, looking out onto a skyscraper's view of Sakaar.

Straight ahead, the Grandmaster sits on a throne, flanked by a tank of a woman in armor with her black hair tied straight back and painted lines on her face.

The Grandmaster has blue lines painted more subtly on his face, and he looks surprisingly human. Silver-white, short hair, a critical expression like a scientist examining a spider in a petri dish. His robes are gold and patterned, and he carries a scepter in one hand.

It all sounds very high fantasy, but, something about his look is the exact opposite. He looks like the kind of guy that describes himself as a _cool cat _and criticizes Sakaarian restaurants with a glass of wine in one hand.

I shift uncomfortably in the chair, my wrists still restrained to the arms.

"Hello," I say awkwardly.

"Ah, he speaks, excellent," the Grandmaster stands fluidly, handing off his scepter to the woman. It waits in his outstretched hand just a little too long.

Finally he glares at her. "When I hand you something, please take it. I won't be needing the melting stick."

She begrudgingly accepts it. _MELTING STICK?_

He floats down the stairs, his hands pressed together in prayer, his eyes raking over me. I almost expect him to toss his hands in the air and yell _time for a makeover _and then revealing I'm secretly on a TLC fashion show.

My fear keeps driving my brain into Midgardian comparisons. There's nothing like that here. I am just trying to make myself feel better.

"Mhm, yes, yes," Grandmaster furrows his eyebrows. "You're awfully small and skinny." He looks at another person, a man in green robes with an equally green face. "You said he could fight in the games?"

"He nearly fought off thirty people in a mob down in the city," answers the man. "Impressive, but he may not be champion material."

"Oh, well, very few have that honor," the Grandmaster turns back to me. "Well, well, well… what do they call you?"

"Spider-Man," I answer sheepishly, deciding not to use my real name. Just in case.

"What's a spider?" asks the Grandmaster. He doesn't wait for an answer, he turns to the green man. "What IS a spider?"

"Midgardian pest," he responds, checking a small tablet in his hands. He holds his fingers an inch apart. "Usually only this big."

"Amongst the Midgardians, you're a giant," the Grandmaster says, looking pleased. "If you are already the champion of your spider-people, then it will be a rude awakening here. Sorry to say, yes. You'll probably not make it. We'll throw you a party for a funeral."

"My aunt," I say worriedly, unable to stop myself. "She was taken with me. In the city. Is she okay?"

"Ant? ANT?" repeats the Grandmaster, turning once more to the man, which my brain dubs as _Green_ until I hear anything otherwise. "What is ANT?"

"Another Midgardian pest," says Green, checking the tablet. Holding his fingers a millimeter apart. "Smaller than a spider. THIS big."

"She's with the others," the Grandmaster waves me off. "No, no, we mustn't worry about that. Focus on your _strength. _Saving it now, and then spending it. Losing it in your likely death. She'll be well-taken care of, trust me. She has no cares in this world."

"You're lying," I snarl through gritted teeth. "She cares about _me. _If you HAVE her… if you HURT her…"

"Why would I do such a thing? Didn't you listen to the tape?" the Grandmaster waves uncomfortably at the chair. "You're supposed to listen to my tape." He whirls to the band in the corner. "Did you replace my speech-maker with one of your ridiculous songs?"

"No, no," cries the leader of the band, unpacking a weird clarinet-looking thing. "Never, Grandmaster."

The woman eagerly holds out the scepter to the Grandmaster's right shoulder, but he waves at her. "Not NOW," he snaps annoyingly.

I focus my energy. _Come on, break. _

I pull my arm straight up in the air - breaking one of the cuffs on the chair.

I only have a second to break the other, but someone hits a trigger too soon. I collapse back in the chair, recoiling with agony when electricity shoots off through my whole body. My head slams back against the metal, dazing me.

"Ooooh, yes, yes, exactly what we need," the Grandmaster looks delighted that I just tried to escape. "That spark, that energy! You'll have the crowds around your little finger."

He points at me with a wagging finger, as if to say, _oh, you silly thing you. _

"Careful," he says with a huge smile, "You'll be more popular than me. What am I saying? That's impossible." He picks up the edge of his robe and sweeps away from me. "Get him cleaned up and ready. Replace that lock."

"Wait," I snap. "I'm not done asking you questions yet."

The Grandmaster sits on his throne. "Ooh, zesty, aren't we?" He smiles. "We'll see you in the ring, Spider-Man."

He begins to rub his hands gleefully together, like he just landed on a hamburger during a picnic.

"If I'm a spider," I snarl, my teeth still painfully buzzing with electricity, my limbs spasmodically twitching. "Then you're a fly." I jerk my head towards Green. "Ask him if you don't know what spiders do to flies."

The chair, with a loud creak and no sense of being _driven _by any one, only remotely controlled from an unknown source, begins to move off to the left towards the bar, a wide seating area, and doors that turn into other halls lit by yellow lights.

"What do flies do?" the Grandmaster asks.

The Green man looks at the tablet in his hands, and back up at the Grandmaster, his skin turning several shades paler.

The chair turns to the corner and I can't see them anymore. There's people milling around, some glancing over with tired curiosity. Many of whom don't seem to care. They're talking in a relaxed hum, with a variety of languages. Drinking alcohol, flirting with each other in Star-Trek-looking booths of outrageous colors.

There's plenty of alien species I do not recognize, some look human, some don't. I recognize a blue-skinned Kree, but I found out recently that not all Kree have blue skin. Maybe a lot of them are Kree, I wouldn't know. One male has pink skin, like Bereet. I catch a flash of curly brown hair, and…

My heart lunges into my throat so quickly that I nearly vomit. "MJ?" I call out.

The curly head turns, a confused expression on her face. Those beautiful, brown eyes. I'd know them anywhere.

It's Michelle Jones.

_Not dead._

_..._

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**Reviewer Replies!**

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LoonyLovegood1981 - I don't know what Fridays for Future are! What is that? Whatever it is, it sounds like FUN! did you see cap'n marvel last friday or is it tomorrow? Can't wait to hear what you think. Thanks for your review as always! you are a gem!

EleanorGardner - Thank you so much! i never thought I could write Rocket but he just jumped onto the page and refused to leave! I am so glad you're enjoying my story, thank you for reviewing! And don't worry I'm not killing anyone off... this time... lol

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**Further Reading on my profile!**

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Into Oblivion - Peter Parker's uncle left him an infinity stone, and he'll have to do whatever it takes to get it off planet and destroy it before Thanos can return. Epic, galaxy wide adventure starring many other Avengers and based on The Fellowship of the Ring.

Avenge the Departed - Original post of this crime/undercover thriller starring Peter Parker, Deadpool, Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes and Captain America; in the MCU Avengers category

The Vast Marvel - collection of Marvel one shots! I suggest adding this story to an "alert" for when I post short drabbles!

Deadpool is Pissed - humorous one shot featuring Deadpool, Peter Parker, and Korg!

Down Came the Rain - my first fully fledged Spider-Man fic, starring other Avengers as well. Peter is kidnapped by a rogue NYPD cop, tortured for information on the Avengers, and released. He copes badly with the psychological aftermath. Interlude book between Spider-Man: Homecoming and Infinity War. Told in flash backs and flash forwards like 13 Reasons Why.

Down Came the Rain Retold - a repost of the above fic, and may I say, the far superior version. Told chronologically, scenes are added and expanded, plot holes and timelines fixed, characterization added... easier to read, track with. Plot and character growth is more obvious.

That One Time Peter Parker Accidentally Did Cocaine - yup, based on another crazy dream I had. One shot. Title is exactly how it sounds haha. Peter does drugs, and his totally (alive!) Dad is not happy about it - for more reasons than one. Tony Stark is even worse.

Sakaar and Away - Peter Parker and Aunt May are kidnapped on Sakaar and trapped in the brutal life and gladiator games of the Grandmaster. Peter Parker will do anything it takes to rescue his aunt - and MJ, the love of his life - from their clutches.


	6. She's Here

**She's Here**

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"MJ!" I scream, my throat quickly raw with the force of my call. I wriggle in the chair, and the electricity goes off, but I'm fighting through it, clenching and twisting, screaming louder and pulling my second hand away from the arm of the chair. "MJ! MJ, it's ME! OVER HERE! OVER HERE! LOOK AT ME! MJ! MICHELLE JONES!"

She's standing in a beautiful silky gown, sapphire blue and trailing along the ground behind her like a magical waterfall. There's dark gold jewelry on her wrists and neck, and she's holding a drink tray in one hand. There's glittery pink liquid bubbling inside the clear chalices.

She regards me with a confused and absent disdain.

"MICHELLE JONES," I shout angrily. "DON'T YOU LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT. YOU KNOW ME. THAT FOOD MAKES YOU FORGET."

Suddenly her eyes grow wide. She looks from side to side, panicked. People are beginning to look, stare, disapprovingly. More so at her, than at me.

The chair turns another corner, and she's gone from my sight.

"NO!" I scream hoarsely, plunging my body back and forth in the seat, grasping at one of the ankle-cuffs with one hand, trying to pull at it.

Finally an electronic blast takes over me from the inside out. It feels cold and hot at once, like someone shoved an icy poker through every vein. My stomach turns over and my head balloons with a migraine.

I black out.

When my body twitches again, I'm lying on the floor back in the circular prison chamber. Rocket is poking at my arm with a small, clawed hand.

He looks sad and concerned, a first that I've ever seen.

"Hiya, pal," he says, his ears turned down like he just got kicked out of his favorite weapons store with a lifelong ban. "Bit of a rough go, eh?"

"I saw her," I whisper, trying to move. And I can't. "I saw MJ."

"Who the hell is MJ?"

"My… my friend. From earth. The one who I thought died in the attack."

I can see he has no idea what I'm talking about.

"She's been missing for years," I say tearfully.

"Oh, okay," Rocket nods knowingly. "You know the Sakaarians still collect lost things, and their mojo is kidnapping people. Pirate angel is doing what he can to crack down on that."

"Pirate angel?"

"Thor, dumbass."

"He's doing a horrible job," I snap. "He should come here and just _do _something about it. He's the freakin' god of thunder. They wouldn't stand a chance."

"The last resort," says Bereet's voice, "Is a full-scale invasion. Thor does not want to be known as the king that invades other planets - even to save them from themselves. He's going to try everything through diplomacy first." She nods at me. "Your head is bleeding."

I reach up self consciously and touch my forehead. There's several cuts along the edge of my scalp, and I'm not sure how they got there. I rub the back of my arm against them, trying to wipe away the blood. I smear it around.

"How the frock do you know all that?" Rocket asks.

"Unfortunately my association with Starlord has given me a peculiar access here," Bereet answers stiffly. "I am not treated very badly because they think my boyfriend will careen across the galaxy to find me and shoot everyone here."

"He ain't even your boyfriend," Rocket laughs.

"They don't need to know that," she sighs. "I'm not punished if I step out of line…" she looks around the chamber. "Well, not _often._ I overhear plenty that I'm not supposed to."

She falls silent, and looks at me. "How are you feeling?" she asks, politely.

"I can't move my legs," I mutter, still horrified by what I saw.

_MJ. _Not dead. _MJ… _but she didn't recognize me. _But she has to. She must know me. _

"Give it time kid," Rocket gives my leg a little kick. "Did you feel that?"

"Ow, yes. I said I can't move them, not that _I can't feel them." _

"Oh, well, you probably had it coming, anyway." Rocket sits back against the wall and starts clicking two rocks together, trying to shape one into something with a little more point. "Sorry to break it to you, but your friend is probably a goner."

"Don't say that," I say, finally pushing myself up to a sitting position, my spine aching from the hardness of the floor. "None of us are. Not yet." I touch my head again. "Why is my head bleeding? What does it look like? How bad is it?"

"It ain't nuthin, just a few scratches from the scissors," Rocket says.

"Scissors?" I squeak.

"They give you a haircut before your first big fight. Dress ya up a little. But you barely had enough hair to cut anyway."

"It's just a trim," Bereet says shortly. "I didn't notice a difference."

"How blind of a barber are they if they cut up my head instead of my hair?"

"Not blind, just old." Rocket shrugs. "It's not a bad look, just pull yer hand down - like that - across your face. There. Great. Now you got like this red handprint thing."

"What good does that do?" I ask.

"What do you _think _it's for? It's war paint now, genius. Now you look like you might actually be able to kill someone."

...

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**Personal Reviewer Replies - thanks for all the love, you amazing peeps.**

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EleanorGardner - Oh my goodness thank you so much! your compliments mean the world! Also I don't think you have to worry, I don't plan on killing anyone XD I feel like I've scarred a lot of my readers with Avenge the Departed lol

Guest - As you wish ;)

FiveorSeven - Thank you so so so much for your kind words. I am so glad you're enjoying my work

warlocktoungue - Oh yes ;)

LoonyLovegood1981 - That sounds super AMAZING. I love it when students are active! Especially for those issues! That's really cool. (beaming with pride) Hope you enjoyed your time and the movie too!

Tightpants182 - THANK YOU so MUCH! That's so sweet of you! I LOVED writing for the Grandmaster very briefly in Where They Go during Peter's space sidequest. And I was super excited for the opportunity to do it again. And I think for this one since it's still based on Spirited Away which is a very clean movie I will leave out anything sex trafficking related, however, the Grandmaster really is a bad guy so I think the hint/threat will still be out in the distance of the other horrible things he does, while not addressing it directly. As far as Captain Marvel goes, I LOVED it. I cried multiple times. I loved the plot twist (or should I say character twists) halfway through. And the fact that Jude Law's character was complicated enough to still be sort of a villain but without dying at the end. The events of the Guardians of the Galaxy; such as Kree government swearing off Ronan as an extremist/zealot, and not sponsoring his actions - shows that Marvel and Yon-Rogg were successful in convincing that there was no truth to Ronan "the Accusers" claim that Skrulls were murderous animals. I LOVED the subtlety of that.

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**Further Reading on my profile!**

* * *

Into Oblivion - Peter Parker's uncle left him an infinity stone, and he'll have to do whatever it takes to get it off planet and destroy it before Thanos can return. Epic, galaxy wide adventure starring many other Avengers and based on The Fellowship of the Ring.

****NEW STORY**** Rewrite the Stars - MJ and Peter finally admit their feelings for one another in a less-than-ideal setting.

The Vast Marvel - collection of Marvel one shots! I suggest adding this story to an "alert" for when I post short drabbles!

Deadpool is Pissed - humorous one shot featuring Deadpool, Peter Parker, and Korg!

Down Came the Rain - my first fully fledged Spider-Man fic, starring other Avengers as well. Peter is kidnapped by a rogue NYPD cop, tortured for information on the Avengers, and released. He copes badly with the psychological aftermath. Interlude book between Spider-Man: Homecoming and Infinity War. Told in flash backs and flash forwards like 13 Reasons Why.

Down Came the Rain Retold - a repost of the above fic, and may I say, the far superior version. Told chronologically, scenes are added and expanded, plot holes and timelines fixed, characterization added... easier to read, track with. Plot and character growth is more obvious.

That One Time Peter Parker Accidentally Did Cocaine - yup, based on another crazy dream I had. One shot. Title is exactly how it sounds haha. Peter does drugs, and his totally (alive!) Dad is not happy about it - for more reasons than one. Tony Stark is even worse.

Sakaar and Away - Peter Parker and Aunt May are kidnapped on Sakaar and trapped in the brutal life and gladiator games of the Grandmaster. Peter Parker will do anything it takes to rescue his aunt - and MJ, the love of his life - from their clutches.

Avenge the Departed - Peter Parker goes undercover sans mask in the Vulture's crime world.


	7. The Waiting Game

**The Waiting Game**

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...

After a half hour, I'm hungry and angry. I can move now, and worked the feeling back into my legs by jogging angrily in the circular cell. The circle felt as if it grew smaller and smaller with each pass, to the point where it felt like there _was _no point at all. The moment I took off, I was passing by Rocket and Bereet again. They watched with bored expressions, till I gave up.

I pace instead, peppering Rocket and Bereet with questions, but none of them have any answers.

Finally, the door slides open again. But there's no one there.

"Ah, finally, my favorite time of the day," Rocket cracks his knuckles and waltzes right out, followed by Bereet.

"They're letting us out?" I ask, quickly following them, flinching when the door slides shut way too quickly behind us. It could have cut me clean in half if I had hesitated a half-second sooner.

Rocket walks right through the annex into the weapons room that I saw, gloating gleefully over the racks. "This is more like it," he says happily.

"I would pick out a weapon, if I were you," Bereet says, nodding to a guard at the door. The guard opens the door for her. "See you."

"Wait. Where are _you _going?"

"To put on my outfit. _You _should pick out a weapon." She gestures to my face. "Don't clean up too much. You'll look more intimidating with that handprint."

She smiles at the guard, and he greets her with familiarity. "Silver or gold today?" he asks.

"It's a surprise," she smiles back. Catching my look, she frowns. "Not everyone here is evil," she says lightly. The guard shuts the door behind her, and stares at me awkwardly.

"Hey," I say.

"Greetings," he replies confusedly.

"Want to hold the door open for me?" I quip, grinning.

"I'm not allowed to," he responds slowly, looking confused. "You must be new."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Sadly. If you want my advice, get a range weapon, not melee." The man gestures over to Rocket. "The rat child has the right idea."

"How do I know you're not setting me up?" I ask, tilting my head. "You're keeping us in here."

He narrows his eyes at me. "I'm in here too, child. We've got two ways we can look at life on Sakaar. Either we're slaves, or we're prisoners with jobs. This is my job. Door duty."

"What's your name?"

"Gorin. You?"

"Peter."

Suddenly there is a cackle of laughter. Rocket is testing a strange looking crossbow without arrows. It's a bit thicker, white-metal plated with red stripes. Instead of string, it has small mechanisms shaped like turbines.

A small bolt of energy sings out, putting a red-hot hole in the wall the size of a baseball. Smoke trails out of it. Another guard quickly rushes over and holds out his hand. "Give it over, Rocket," he demands. "You're not supposed to use 'em in _here."_

"You chumps spoil all the fun," Rocket hands the gun back to him, subdued.

"So why should I get something long range?" I ask, turning back to Gorin. He's a large person, heavily armored in dark green and blackened metal. He wears a long, magenta cape, and carries the same type of weapon Rocket was looking at, only it's much - much bigger. His skin is as dark as the metal, his beard and thick, curling hair even darker.

His eyes are a startling golden-yellow as they bore into me. "Because you are small, and the game-players are mighty. By the time you are in close hand-to-hand combat, you're dead. But you buy yourself a few moments of life if you can take them out before they get to you."

"Oh, okay."

"I would not take too long deciding," Gorin glances nervously up at a neon-pink marquee about the size of a breadbox affixed to the wall near the ceiling. The letters, very Star-Wars looking and entirely unreadable by me, are ticking down and changing shapes. "It's almost your turn."

I feel my stomach turn over. I walk over to join Rocket, examining the weapons hanging on the walls. "Long range?" I ask weakly.

"Well, well, well, you've come to the right place," Rocket says creepily, pointing at a long handled battle axe. The blades are shaped more like the Federation symbol from Star Trek, not like a dwarven fighting axe in a fantasy movie.

I pull it off the wall carefully. It's heavy, but not unmanageable. "This is not long range," I say.

"That trigger there on the handle shoots out blue energy blasts from that point, y'know," Rocket answers. "It's _great_ range. How's your aim?"

I think about my web shooters. Wishing I had them. "It's decent."

"Good. Load up. Let's get you that one. Ooh, and put this knife in your boot."

"I'm not wearing boots."

"You might, though. Take that knife off the top - I can't reach - good. And grab that spear. You can throw that. No, grab two."

"I only have two hands."

Rocket grins. "You only got one life."

Another door at the far end of the room opens, and the guard hands Rocket the weapon he had taken away from him earlier.

"Wish me luck," Rocket cranks the lever on the gun with a satisfying _ker-chick. _

"Wait - you're fighting?"

"Why do ya think they had me in there for? Keepin' you company? I'm a fighter too! And a good one!" Rocket's bushy tail disappears through the door, followed closely by the guard. "They give me all the tiny aliens to kill. It's a frickin' insult."

"Holy shit," I say. "Well - uh - good lu…"

The door slides shut behind him.

So much for that.

It doesn't take long for the walls to shake with cheers and crashes from somewhere beyond the room. I can hear a thunderous crowd, the rattling of heavy thuds in the ground.

I start pacing again to try and distract myself.

"Hey! You!" says a familiar voice.

I turn slowly and look at the pink, electrical bars of energy separating the weapons hall from the bar on the other side.

It's MJ. She looks as radiant - and as confused - as she did before. The sapphire dress reflects the pink energy, turning it a slight purple color. She's not carrying a tray of drinks this time. Her eyes rove over me, as if to look for signs of any familiarity - but she finds nothing.

"MJ," I whisper hoarsely.

"Stop using that _name," _she hisses. "Come here. I need to talk to you." She looks over my shoulder briefly. "Gorin, right?" she asks.

Gorin shakes his head. "I absolve myself of this." With a _sheenk _sound, he opens the same door he let Bereet through, steps inside, and shuts it again.

There's an awkward pause, and I look at MJ again. _Really _look at her. She's too thin. She's paler. She hands look a little too long for her body - I realize she's malnourished. _Actually _malnourished.

I take a few careful steps towards her. "It's you. It's _really _you."

"Who are you?" she asks firmly. "I don't have a lot of time before Gorin comes back. So no bullshit."

"It's - it's me. Peter Parker," I say, taking a few more steps. "You don't remember me?"

"Of course not. How would I know you?"

"We grew up together. On Midgard. We're best friends."

She gives me a critical look. "You don't look like a friend."

I don't expect the animosity radiating from her, and it saddens me to my core - making me feel heavier, somehow. The air between us drawn and worn through with darkness.

"What do I look like, then?" I ask confusedly.

"You look like someone who is going to die in the next game."

"I might," I say quickly. "I might. So. If I do. Before I go. You should know that you are missed very much. Your parents. My aunt and I. Ned. We all love you. We thought you had died, we thought…"

"Slow down," she says, and her voice aches with pain, shaking her head as if the physical movement will ward off the truth. "I have no life before Sakaar. Everyone knows that. When you wake up here, and eat the food, you forget. And that's it. So. I'm sorry to disappoint you, Petra…"

"Peter." I pause, painfully. "So I can't call you MJ?"

"They call me Sendriel. You'll need to call me that too."

"I am _not _calling you that."

"Call me Sendriel, or it's back to the pens for me, and getting _force-fed _something to make me even dumber than I am now," she snarls angrily.

Then she quickly hushes, glancing worriedly over her shoulder. No one is paying us any attention. Patrons are drinking, playing card games, canoodling in dark corners.

"So you _know _the food is making you forget," I whisper.

"Of course I do. I see what it does to all the newcomers," she sighs. "Listen, I don't want that to happen to you. I pulled some untainted water for you. And a few crackers. Here." She slips them between the pink, humming beams.

I accept the small waterskin and the palm-sized paper wrapping that looks small enough to have, maybe, three saltine crackers in it.

"Why are you helping me?" I ask.

"If you knew me from Midgard…"

"I did!"

"_If _you knew me from Midgard - then - I'm - well, call it an investment. I have questions about myself. _If _you survive. My curiosity is conditional."

"I'll tell you anything."

"Shit. Just slow down, okay? It's a two-edged sword. I also can't trust anything you say."

"Then why bother?"

"Because I can't trust anyone, so," MJ shrugs. "Might as well hear you out."

"When can we talk?"

MJ sighs. "If you survive your first battle, we'll talk after."

"I'll survive," I say heatedly. "I promise. I'll do whatever it takes. There's something else, though… I need..."

"That's all the food I can sneak you for now, you dope. Do you realize how it hard it was to get that? If anything, at least you won't forget your own name."

"It's not about food. My aunt. May."

"Who?"

"My aunt was taken in the square. I fought and I was brought here. But she had some of the food and forgot… well, she got weird, and then we were separated…"

"Oh," MJ looks disheartened. "I know where she is."

"You DO?" I nearly throw my whole body through the beams right then and there, remembering at the last minute that I _didn't _know if they delivered a simple shock, or sliced through a body like lightsabers. "Where is she? Is she okay?"

MJ doesn't answer at first, filling me with dread.

"Please, please, please tell me if she's okay," I whisper, my eyes filling unexpectedly. "She's all I have. Especially… especially if the MJ _I _knew is gone for good. Please. Where is she?"

MJ gives me a look of surprise. "She's imprisoned."

"Oh, god. Are they mistreating her?"

"Not that she'd notice." MJ gives a brief nod over my shoulder. The other door slid open, and Gorin returns to his post, arms crossing over his chest. "Times up," she says. "I have to go."

"No wait, please, wait!"

But then she's gone, and the second door is sliding open behind me.

Rocket comes stumbling through, looking a little disheveled, but not injured in anyway. His small vest is rumpled, and he's forced to hand the gun back over to the guard that followed him in.

"Here ya go, you filthy bastard," Rocket says in a congenial tone. He gives me a challenging look and a shit-eating grin. "Pick up your weapons, Parks. It's your turn."

...

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...

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**NEXT: **A fight to the death for Peter and a familiar creature...

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**Thank you so much to Crystal, QueenofCrystallopia here on fanfic, for being the listening ear when I struggle so hard on the tiniest things!**

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**Personal Review Replies**

blueflame4676 - Thank-you so so much for reviewing! I live off these! I am so glad you are enjoying my story.

Tightpants182 - Your wish is my command! This chapter was a bit longer! I'm trying to do shorter ones for this story (at least shorter than Avenge the Departed, because wow, those were long lol...) so that I don't get burnt out and post more frequently. But this one just flowed too easily from one scene to the next, I couldn't find a good stopping place haha.

LoonyLovegood1981 - Thank-you so much for your review as always! you're the best! We will get to see May soon (ish)

Guest - iGracias por tu evaluación!

* * *

**Further Reading on my profile!**

* * *

Into Oblivion - Peter Parker's uncle left him an infinity stone, and he'll have to do whatever it takes to get it off planet and destroy it before Thanos can return. Epic, galaxy wide adventure starring many other Avengers and based on The Fellowship of the Ring.

****NEW STORY**** Rewrite the Stars - MJ and Peter finally admit their feelings for one another in a less-than-ideal setting.

Avenge the Departed - An epic crime thriller of every dark and violent nightmare come to life in the Marvel world, also featuring Deadpool. Peter Parker goes undercover sans mask in the Vulture's crime world, and Bucky Barnes is planted in the Avengers by Hydra. Tony Stark and Steve Rogers scramble to stay ahead of the corruption. Based on "The Departed" movie.

The Vast Marvel - collection of Marvel one shots! I suggest adding this story to an "alert" for when I post short drabbles!

Deadpool is Pissed - humorous one shot featuring Deadpool, Peter Parker, and Korg!

Down Came the Rain - my first fully fledged Spider-Man fic, starring other Avengers as well. Peter is kidnapped by a rogue NYPD cop, tortured for information on the Avengers, and released. He copes badly with the psychological aftermath. Interlude book between Spider-Man: Homecoming and Infinity War. Told in flash backs and flash forwards like 13 Reasons Why.

Down Came the Rain Retold - a repost of the above fic, and may I say, the far superior version. Told chronologically, scenes are added and expanded, plot holes and timelines fixed, characterization added... easier to read, track with. Plot and character growth is more obvious.

That One Time Peter Parker Accidentally Did Cocaine - yup, based on another crazy dream I had. One shot. Title is exactly how it sounds haha. Peter does drugs, and his totally (alive!) Dad is not happy about it - for more reasons than one. Tony Stark is even worse.


	8. The First Battle

**The First Battle**

* * *

Rocket advised as many weapons as possible, and I'm not about to throw that in his face. In my hands is the blaster rifle, I tucked two knives in my belt, and I threw something with a shoulder strap around my shoulder - but I have no idea what it is. It's smaller than the rifle, but has a X-shaped gimmick at the end, kind of like a grappling hook with razor sharp, barbed edges.

I guess I'll find out what it does soon enough.

The guards push me through the door once I'm loaded, and there's a few others standing on the other side - in various weird outfits of silk and armor both, and they give me a helmet, a piece of body armor kind of like a chest plate, and then they offer a pair of boots.

"No thanks," I say, my heart pounding so hard that I think I might be sick.

A man with long, green braids and cat-eyes too large for his face shrugs absently, opens the next door, and shoves me into a hallway.

It reminds me of those metal hallways that lead from concessions to the stands at a baseball field, a sort of metal tunnel at a steady incline, with screams and cheers and stomps waiting on the other side. The roar is unfathomably loud as I step out of the tunnel and into the white stage lights, shining down into a massive - and I mean, _huge - _dirt ring. Maybe the width of a football field or longer, the ring is surrounded on all sides by a tall circular wall, and then above the wall, several stories of stadium seating with hundreds of thousands of people.

They all scream and clap lustily for me when I step out and try to shield my eyes, and the roar is deafening. My spider senses are completely overwhelmed, and I nearly stumble backwards as if someone already tried to take a swing at me.

I look blearily around, trying to gather my bearings. Somewhere in the middle of the stadium seating, there's a special viewing box with a glass window, and I spy the silver hair of the Grandmaster - a small, elegant figure far inside and reclining luxuriously on a couch.

In a second, I see a flash of sapphire blue. So MJ is up there too, serving drinks.

"MJ," I whisper, feeling the bliss I hardly got to entertain earlier that she's _alive. _For a moment a pathetic, tearful laugh bubbles up inside of me. _She's alive. _

_I can get her back. _

I spy Bereet at the far end of the ring coming out of another door. She's wearing a skimpy silver bikini, and she points to a screen embedded in the wall, where there is something written in a language I don't understand. She makes a gesture to point out the words, waves at the crowd, and disappears through the door again.

If I had to guess, the sign probably says _Round 2_ or something dumb like that.

"Welcome, welcome," says a booming, projected voice of the Grandmaster from his safety box. "Without, uh, any further ado, let's see how long this one lasts, ha!"

The crowd bursts into laughter along with him.

I roll my eyes.

"Let the games begin! Bring out our first monster for the challenger!"

My heart quails inside my chest, and I dig my heel slightly behind me in the dirt ground. I brace myself, my knuckles white around the weapons I chose. The crowd cheers and stomps and screams, and a door at the far end of the stadium starts to rise.

There's a huge, screaming bellow inside.

The hair on the back of my neck and arms raise. _Spider-warning. _

When the door finishes rising to the top, a massive fleshy tentacle comes swinging out, slaps down into the dirt, followed by another tentacle, and another tentacle.

"Holy shit," I exclaim.

The tentacles writhe and grip the dirt, dragging a huge body. The flesh is wrinkled and pinkish, slimy and wet, a massive bulbous head like a squid, and heaving bulk of a body behind it the size of a two story house. More tentacles come out. I lose count after six, they all flail around, wetly splatting against the walls, the ground, pulling itself forward.

I've heard of these guys - it's called an Abilisk. Peter Quill and the rest of the guardians fought one once, but I obviously neglected to ask a lot of questions I wish I had now - like - what are its weaknesses? If they can usually fly, why was this one _not _flying?

I realize it's probably be given something to keep it from flying into the stands and endangering the people watching. So the Grandmaster can sit comfortably in his box.

"Oh, great," I say out loud. "Just GREAT."

The abilisk opens it's huge, circular mouth, showing off a sphere of teeth, and lets out a whiny, shrieky sound. A burst of something like rainbow confetti comes flying out, and the rows of revelers that are closest to it scream and lean back in their seats.

Okay, noted. Avoid the rainbow scream.

I aim my blaster-rifle in the abilisk's direction, squint one eye shut, and fire.

A blast of lightning-energy flies out at top speed, the crackles and tendrils of lightning hitting the abilisk and rolling all over its body. It wriggles around in protest, but it does absolutely zero damage.

The lightning piddles out as if it gets tired and dissipates.

"Great," I moan again, throwing the blaster-rifle down. "Awesome."

The abilisk notices me, screams loudly, the bulges that _might _be eyes seem to focus on me.

The tentacles begin to slap the ground in disgusting, fast-paced slurps, and the behemoth begins flying across the stadium ring towards me faster than a creature like this should move.

Logically and scientifically - something this huge and wet shouldn't be able to move this fast.

But here it comes.

I can feel heat and damp radiating from it as it gets closer, those massive, nasty arms squeezing and lurching towards me. I pull the other weapon with the hook off my back, checking the mechanism, and whisper,

"Dear God… please be what I think you are?"

I can smell the stink of this thing, the acidic breath aiming towards me, the hot barreling fear of what it would mean to be crushed under it's slippery nastiness, like falling into a vat of harvested organs and then smothered…

I click the trigger just as the pink, stinking maw opens wide, feel the weapon release in my hands. The grappling hook _sings _through the air, goes right into the open mouth of the abilisk, and punctures through the creature's tongue. A burst of rainbow smoke-and-glitter blasts in my direction.

I leap straight up into the air as high as I can to avoid it. Part of the rainbow blast catches my foot in midair, yanking it around like someone had grabbed and tugged. I feel searing pain through my ankle in protest.

I shut my eyes and twist in the air, landing onto the nasty, slushy backside of the abilisk. I click the trigger again, the line seizes, and I slide down the back, avoiding massive tentacles that turn upside down and backwards to try and slap at me, like a pesky bug it needs to swat away. The crowd is going wild, but it's nothing but white-noise to me now - the cacophony is so strong it's just an energy of background noise.

The string grows entirely taught, and I land on the ground on the other side, hesitating too long - a massive tentacle swings around and slaps me so hard against my body, my eyes see nothing but glittering cosmos, my brain goes to fuzz-town, and my existence seems entirely imagined.

But I throw every ounce of spider-strength into a horrible, soul-searing _YANK _on the weapon in my hands - and I hear the sound of the abilisk tongue ripping out of its body.

The entire stadium gasps in a mutual exclamation of surprise and disgust.

A horrible, snarling yelp turns into a gurgling scream.

With the weapon still in hand, I run as hard and as fast as I can for the other end of the ring. Which isn't very hard, or very fast, hot-iron pain pounding through my foot from where the rainbow-sonic-scream did some sort of damage. I hear the sickening sound of a loose tongue the size of a surfboard bouncing along behind me.

It didn't take long for me to get entirely covered in a sort of nasty goo and dirt, and I turn slowly and look over my shoulder at the damage.

The abilisk wail dwindles to nothing, and I feel horror in my gut for making it suffer. No one deserves to suffer like that…

_It or me, _I think grimly. _Live through this. Get MJ. Get May. Get Rocket. And get out._

The abilisk lies entirely still in a massive, hulking heap of peach-colored, steaming tentacles. It doesn't make any further sounds.

The crowd is going absolutely berserk in thundering applause.

I throw my weapon down on the ground, step over the boily tongue, and look at the Grandmaster's window.

"Let me see my aunt!" I shout up at the window. I know I must look at least a _little _intimidating, covered in grime, the horrible adrenaline of killing a space-creature making me sick all over, my eyes shadowed with the belief that maybe I _can _kill when need calls for it. Even someone like the Grandmaster, not a space-octopus.

"LET ME SEE HER!" I shout again.

"Well, that's - how charming! How unexpected! A victor from Midgard! This is the first I've ever seen - isn't it? Wouldn't you say that's the first you've ever seen?" the Grandmaster's voice comes out like it's on a mic again. "Well, Sakaar, make welcome - your victor! Dare I say - maybe, champion material?"

The crowd roars.

"I'm not your champion!" I scream. "I want to see my aunt!"

"Not yet, not yet," says the Grandmaster. "Go - go clean _up, _at least. God, that's disgusting. Doesn't anyone have any sense of style nowadays? Or is it _just _me?"

The small door that I came through slides open again. I drop my weapon, and limp slowly across the stadium. The crowd still applauds and stomps their feet, and lights roam around the ring. My foot hurts, but it's not broken. Feels more like my ankle gave out on the edge of a curb from not watching where I was going.

I glance over my shoulder at the Grandmaster's box. He's drinking and laughing with his cohorts, and I can see MJ watching me through the window. I give no indication that I know her, I don't wave, and I don't smile. But I stare at her long enough for her to notice.

She turns quickly away, and I pass through the door.

"Dear Christ on a popsicle," Rocket looks at me with horror and happy fascination. "You're alive. What was it?"

"Abilisk," I choke out. The door slides shut again behind me, and finally I collapse on the ground, leaning my back against the wall.

"Damn, one of those just for one a you?" Rocket says. "That's just cruel and unusual punishment."

Gorin steps over to us. "You went out with weapons," he says.

"I left them out there," I say sullenly.

"The two knives," Gorin says sternly. "I was watching. I know you didn't use them."

Glaring at him, I remove the knives from my belt, and slap them into his waiting palms.

Rocket whistles. "You don't try and pull _that _stunt, Pete. Not if you wana live."

"I'm told there's a lot of things I shouldn't try if I want to live," I snap. I take a shuddering breath and lean my head on the wall, shutting my eyes. "I feel gross. I just want to go to sleep."

"You'll get your wish soon enough," Rocket says. "If they like you enough you'll get a room with the rest of us guys. They won't make us fight again for another two days or somethin'." At my expression, he shrugs. "What? Did you think they'd keep us in the magic circle hallway forever? There's no where to take a shit!"

"I guess I didn't think about it."

"Well, trust me, you wouldda thought about it as soon as you needed to. See? There we go!"

Gorin opens the door that he let Bereet through, and gestures at us to go through. "Get cleaned up," he commands. "Then we'll put you to work with the rest of the slaves till you fight again."

"I hate baths," Rocket mutters.

"You're not the one covered in abilisk sweat," I groan, struggling to my feet. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath, testing my weight on my hurt foot. It _hurts, _but it can bear my weight. But not much of it.

Rocket's ears flick backwards, and for a moment, he looks like… kind of cute. Like a puppy. "You hurt?" he asks.

"Foot got blasted by that rainbow-scream thing the abilisk has," I mutter, limping towards the door.

"Oh, great. You're foot is probba-lee in another dimension or somethin'."

"What?! What do you mean by that?"

"It's an interdimensional guy, it spits transdimensional matter."

"So?"

"So your foot probably hurts because it's in an alternature universe!"

"That's… probably not the case at all, Rocket," I say tiredly, following him through the door with a slow gait. "As you can see, I'm still walking with two feet." Another guard on the other side, standing attention at the head of a long, green hallway, throws me a small gray jumpsuit and a towel. "Get cleaned up," he snaps. "And be quick about it."

Rocket gets motioned down a different hallway, turning right, while mine takes me left.

"Rocket," I say in a panic, "Will I see you later?"

"Don't know," Rocket replies, looking a little subdued. "We might end up in different spaces."

"Remember what I said - tell Stark - anyone…"

"That you and your aunt need a lift," Rocket nods. "I know. I got ya." He pounds his chest a little bit, and Gorin pushes him the other way.

My guard rudely shoves me onward.

"Thanks, Rocket," I call out again.

"You got it, Pete. Don't let the bugs bite harder than you."

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	9. Sendriel

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**Sendriel**

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By the time I've showered and put on a gray jumpsuit, my ankle is swollen and mauve. I can't fit back into my sneaker, so I just slide my foot in and leave it untied. I put the broken crackers from MJ in my pocket, hoping they don't search me, and wind up my old clothes under one arm in a tight bundle.

I limp back to the guard with his back to me, and tap him on the shoulder. "I'm done," I say stiffly.

He jolts his head and leads me slowly down another hall. I get totally twisted around and confused, mostly because I'm staring at the floor, focusing on putting one foot in front of another. My untied shoe slaps my heel.

My spider-healing better work with _transdimensional blasts, _otherwise my next fight will be even shorter. Because I'll get killed instantly.

We enter a wide, spacious room with white arm chairs shaped like bowls, green plants growing out of the walls, and a wide pond in the middle of the floor. A small fountain bubbles in the center. If I didn't know any better, I would think it was a relaxing room - a spa, something I would actually retreat to… maybe hide in a corner with my homework… if this was in New York.

But it's Sakaar and nothing is that pleasant even if it appears to be.

"What is this?" I ask.

The guard shrugs. "Grandmaster likes nice spaces."

"For _what?" _I continue, looking down into the pond. The water is peppermint green, and small candles and flowers float on the surface.

The guard rolls his eyes. "Who knows? Sleeping? Sex? I don't care."

"When does he usually come in he…"

"Ask me another question," says the guard, "And I will _drown _you."

I could probably take him on, but I shut my mouth, remembering the object attached to my neck and the trigger that _everyone _seemed to have in their pocket.

The guard presses a hand to a smooth, shining wall, and a seamless panel slides open. He withdraws a bucket and a rag.

"Clean the room," he says. "No funny business." He slams the bucket on the floor. "You can use the water in the tub."

Oh, so it's a jacuzzi. Not a fountain. _This is SO weird. _

"I'll be outside the door. Knock when you're done."

"Um, okay… you know this rag is going to do _a terrible job, _right? Do you guys have any sponges? Something like, Mr. Clean? How about a mop for the…"

The door slides shut behind the guard. I push my fist against it, and it holds fast. I'm sure there's some sort of locking mechanism in a console that I can't see or use.

I turn back and observe the room. It's the width of a volleyball court. All marble, and from what I can tell, already pretty clean. I guess I just wouldn't want to shine a black light in here.

It's also very empty. I kneel at the side of the tub and stick my fingertips in - it's warm. I slide my foot out of my sneaker and slip it in, letting out a surprised yelp, followed quickly by a relieved sigh.

_Oh, that feels good._

I lay back on the marble floor for a moment, trying not to think about what might be on the floor before I get to clean it. I let the bubbling water surround my swollen ankle and take a deep breath.

I hear a sound at the corner of the room - the opposite corner. I jolt upwards quickly, withdrawing my dripping foot and squeaking on the floor to try and maintain my balance.

It's MJ.

"Sleeping on the job, huh?" she asks, sliding in through another paneled entrance that seals shut once she's inside.

"Just… trying to bring the swelling down," I admit sheepishly.

"You're hurt," MJ states flatly.

"Transdimensional matter hit my foot."

"Oh, well, that's easily cured," she walks up to me, the sapphire dress sashaying around her hips in an intoxicating sort of way. "Here." She hands me a small piece of yellow paper. It looks like a sticker. The biological child of a bandaid and a post-it note.

Wow, I really miss Earth stuff.

"What's this?" I ask, confused.

"How do you think they keep their warriors in fighting conditions when they want to over-use them?" MJ rolls her eyes and whips the yellow paper back out of my palm. She unpeels the back, kneels, and presses the sticker against my swollen ankle. Within seconds, the edges have dissolved, sealing onto my skin. Leaving a small yellow patch of paper.

Instantly, the pain dies down, and a cooling sensation spreads through the swelling.

"It'll fall off in a few days," MJ says.

"Wow, I… thank you. I don't know what to say."

"Say it feels better."

"It does, it does - I mean - thank you."

"Don't thank me. Just don't get hurt again."

"Why are you helping me - _again?_" I ask. I bite my lip. "MJ, please…"

"For crying out _loud," _she snarls, "It's Sendriel. You have to get used to that."

"I'll… I'll try…" then I pause, and I frown. "No, _no. Hell no. _I am not getting _used _to that. Because we're not going to be here long enough to get used to any of this. I am going to escape, and I am taking you with me. Me, and my aunt, and my raccoon. We're all getting off this trash dump."

Her eyes narrow at my vehemence. "You can't just take me off planet. My whole life is here."

"That's only what you think because you eat and drink their shit," I argue. "Get off _that _and you'll remember. You're life was everywhere but here. I will not stop until I figure it out." My hand finds her arm, curling my fingers around the rail-thin wrist with a gentle squeeze. "If you stay here, you'll die. And I won't let that happen."

She wrenches her arm away. "Don't touch me," she whispers.

My eyes widen. "Oh I'm - I'm so sorry. Jeeze. I'm an idiot. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. It's just… we were on hugging terms. Last I saw you. I forget you don't know me. I won't cross that line again. Not till you ask."

"I'm not going to ask _you _or anyone," she snaps. "It's hard enough dodging every drunk on this god-forsaken planet." She shifts her body away from me, looking at the bubbling water. "I just wanted to come find you and ask about - my _supposed _life on Midgard - but I'm not really in the mood anymore."

"I'm so sorry, I am an idiot…"

"All your talk about rescuing and escaping has put me off, way off," she continues, her volume rising. "Talk like that gets you killed. Beaten to _death. _I've seen it before. A hundred times. Just last week they threw one of the serving girls out into the trash heaps outside the city. There's fucking _cannibals _out there, do you understand that? They _eat _people that stray past the city borders. They live in the trash and eat the exiles."

I shudder. "I didn't know."

"Well, you know now."

I shake my head. "I won't talk about it, and I won't get caught. But I am taking you off this planet. And you can be as mad at me as you want to, _Sendriel, _but I owe it to my best friend, Michelle Jones - that girl whose face you're wearing. And if you remembered her, she'd probably punch Sendriel in the face to try and escape. _That's _the person that their food is making you forget. _That's _the person locked up inside of you. If you ever get scared, try to remember that. That's who you are. And no matter what they do to you, that won't change."

She stares at me, her mouth falling open halfway through the monologue, and staying open.

"I'm sorry for yelling, and for grabbing your arm," I say firmly, calming myself with a deep breath and apologetic, earnest eyes. "You've sought me out twice now. That's because my best friend is still in there - somewhere."

MJ's mouth trembles. "Even if I don't remember you, or care about you at all, you'd do anything I asked, wouldn't you?"

It's a weird question, but I nod. "Anything."

"I've never had that kind of power over someone, ever. It's a weird feeling. For a slave."

"Don't say never," I remind her. I step closer. "You've always had that power over me. That's… that's what our friendship was like. We'd do anything for each other. Even when it was hard."

She steps away from me again, abruptly changing the subject. "Speaking of hard," she says stiffly, "Beating an abilisk is usually impossible. Especially for a small human." Her eyes rove up and down my body. "And you're nothing special. No offense. What's the secret?"

"I'm Spider-Man," I answer flippantly. Yolo.

She blinks. "And what the hell is that?"

"It's just a thing, with an extra boost of strength and healing powers and agility…"

MJ smirks. "I'm _sure _on Midgard, you're hot stuff. Out here, that's anyone from Asgard, Brover, Titan, Piers Fall, Taccoon Five…"

"Okay, okay, I get it," I laugh. "You asked."

Suddenly the door slides open behind us, and the guard stomps in. "NO WORK?" he growls loudly. "Having a woman in here? NOT what you are assigned to do! Get to work!" He brings a hand up high, like he's about to slap MJ.

I stop him with my hand, grasping firmly around his wrist and squeezing tight. Threatening to break his bones. He roars at me, and presses the trigger button, and the electrocution knocks me down onto the ground, spasming and twitching, my spine arching and convulsing and arching again.

"Stop, he's had enough of that!" MJ puts out a hand, and the guard shoves her shoulders violently. She crashes backwards, but before she can get up, he slams a foot down on her chest, sliding his foot into her neck, and putting weight down.

Her eyes widen and her throat wheezes. "I'm sorry," she squeezes out. "It won't - happen… a… again…"

"LEAVE HER ALONE," I scream through rattling teeth, clenching together involuntarily.

The guard presses his foot down harder. "Get out, or I'll have you reassigned to the Grandmaster's private ship."

"No, please, I'll do _anything," _MJ begs. I've never heard her sound so desperate or scared. Whatever happens on the ship can't be just serving drinks like it is here.

"Anything?" the guard repeats nastily. "Just start by the _obvious, _do as I say! GET OUT! To your own business!" He releases his foot, and she braces her elbow on the floor to push herself over to her stomach, hacking and coughing into the marble. Her breath wheezes painfully.

"I'll get to work," I say hoarsely. "Just let her do whatever. Let her leave." The electricity has passed, so I push myself off the floor and grab the bucket and rag, kneeling beside the tub and dipping the rag into it. I begin to scrub hurriedly at the completely white and already-clean floor. "See? See?" I demand, trying to keep his attention. "I'm working."

MJ, bent over at the waist, runs out of the open door behind the guard. I can hear her cough once or twice before the _pitter patter _of her feet disappear.

The guard points at me. "You are trouble. You will behave. Or you go back into the ring tonight. Face the champion. _Never come out again." _

"Cleaning, I'm cleaning now," I reply back, clenching my teeth so hard my cheeks bulge. Ned always accused me of doing a bullfrog impression when I made this face.

If only Ned knew what I was stuck doing right now when he thinks I'm off on my first space-flight where I'm the pilot.

I guess I am really a terrible pilot.

"You keep cleaning," the guard says, and he finally leaves and the door seals shut again.

I scrub uselessly at the white marble, watching the time pass through the windows at the far end. Eventually the light fades from white, to gold, to pink. Then finally, purple. And black, with twinkling lights from the windows of other tall skyscrapers, stacked and oddly shaped like Jenga games.

The light in the room now is sickly and fluorescent. Something like an abandoned hospital in an old video game I might have played with Ned once. Without the natural light, it doesn't seem relaxing or beautiful. It feels sterile. Deadly. The fantasy hot tub room of a sociopath who likes to cut up bodies on plastic sheets.

I tap on the door. "Hey, you out there, I'm DONE," I call.

It slides open, and there's a different guard. "Follow me," he says, his mouth puckered like fish lips, and his skin patterned with gray and green gills. Instead of hair, he has ridged skin riding up his forehead, across his bald dome, and down the back of his skull. Like a sickly, fishy Klingon.

He jabs the butt of a spear into my back, prodding me back down the hall. I can walk just fine now, thanks to MJ.

I know she remembers me somehow, otherwise, she wouldn't feel drawn to help me. The thought makes me smile. No matter what these shitheads can do to her, she fights back. I just hope she's okay. That the other guard didn't hurt her too badly.

And someday when we're safe - and away from this planet - she'll remember that I told her I'm Spider-Man, and she'll punch my shoulder, and get mad at me, and demand to know why I had kept it a secret while we both lived in New York…

I would rather have her remember me and be angry, than feel like only half of herself while others control what she gets to do or think.

The guard pushes me into a room lined with thin bunks, lines and rows of them. There's plenty of other figures sleeping in their bunks. There's a hard-edged, hairless human man trimming his nails in his bed, glaring at me when I walk in.

"Hey, Fresh-blood," he calls out nastily. "Pick out your favorite bed."

"Hey, tumor-face," Rocket's voice pipes up from the back. "Touch him and I'll bite off your fingers in your sleep."

The man frowns his shadowed eyes and looks back at his handiwork.

Rocket bounds around the line of bunks as the guard shuts and locks the door behind me. "Look at that," he greets excitedly. "They didn't kill ya."

"Not yet," I say. "Where can I sleep for the night?"

"I saved the bunk below mine, obvious-a-ly. Everyone knows here I don't take shit. Stump knows. Don't you, Stump?"

A man with three missing fingers waves tiredly from across the room where he's scratching a line into the wall. His hatch marks - if they represent how long he's been trapped here - are well into the hundreds.

I awkwardly wave back. I wonder if he's missing those fingers because Rocket relieved him of them. And now they are sort of friends?

Rocket leads me to the back of the room and scrambles like an actual woodland creature up the metal post and onto the top bunk. I drop into the empty one beneath it, roll onto the thin cushion (not even close to a mattress), and groan heavily.

"I see ya got your foot back from the other dimension," Rocket chuckles.

"You lost your foot in another dimension?" asks a voice from two bunks over. A short, frog-like person, maybe about four-feet high, skin wrinkled and bulbous. Instead of green, though, a peachy pink. And he has three eyes, not two. One smack in the middle of his forehead.

"Yeah," I reply, too tired to explain. "But it came back. I can walk now."

"Good, cuz tomorrow they got all kindsa shit for us to do," Rocket leans over the edge of his bunk. "My advice? Go the hell to sleep."

"What _kind _of dimension?" asks the frog-guy.

"Shut _up, _Dufflaw," Rocket snaps.

"Don't let the bugs bite harder than you," I sleepily repeat Rocket's words of encouragement from earlier. I don't know if he's just quoting the _bed bugs _rhyme incorrectly, or if this is just a thing he likes to say. Regardless. I like the sentiment.

I'm too hungry, so I sleep restlessly, Aunt May on my mind like a slowly closing wound. I resolve to eat the cracker-things tomorrow for breakfast and then refuse whatever they offer.

"Don't forget me, Aunt May," my whisper reaches out into the dark room, pained, a sorrow that can't be washed, beaten, forgotten… I don't want to end up like MJ. I can't.

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**Next: **As the Grandmaster puts it, the "not slaves, the prisoner's with jobs" get to work, but Peter tries to make his plans for escape.

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	10. The Pen

**Content Warning: Graphic descriptions of mistreatment. Slavery conditions on Sakaar are upsetting, and it is an violent interpretation of the "pig pens" in Spirited Away when Chihiro sees her parents in the barn. **

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**The Pen**

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I flinch awake with a gasp. It's in the middle of the night, and my stomach is growling loudly. Not eating all day yesterday finally catches up with me fully, and I eat the crackers and drink from the waterskin that MJ had slipped to me. It's not filling, and it's not good. My stomach continues to rumble even when I'm done.

Hopefully, though, it's enough to help me refuse breakfast tomorrow. But I can't hold out much longer than that. I have a few hours at most.

It feels like I blink for only a moment, and when I do, it's no longer midnight and there is a gray light peering in from the small, slated window. My spider-sense picks up on a thin, wraith-like figure, sneaking between the bunks. Before I can overreact, my senses seem to recall the same presence that MJ brings - an intelligent, saddened aura of a friendship long forgotten and her self-defensive fears. I feel that again, and I know it's MJ - or _Sendriel - _sneaking through the room, looking over each bunk till she finds me.

She reaches out into the darkness, tapping on my shoulder.

"Hey, Midgard, I can take you to see your Aunt," MJ whispers. "Be quiet and follow me."

She slides open the panel in the wall, beckons me after her. I tiptoe past the other bunks of sleeping gladiators and slide in behind her, and push the panel shut again.

She sneaks through the darkness and drops down into a thin opening in the wall, kind of like a dumbwaiter without the lift. It's a short fall, only about four feet. I can hear the sounds of people in the building stirring to life.

MJ ducks and crawls through a crawlspace, and I follow her. She pushes against a vent in the wall, which pops it out onto the muddy ground, touched by a silvery frost.

It's early morning, and the sun - or whatever it is that provides them light, whether it's artificial or not - is on a set rising schedule, and about to breach the edge of the city. Smoke and smells rise from the chimneys, and there is a distinct morning chill.

I can see my breath, and hers, rising in plumes.

"Why are you helping me?" I ask, now that we're outside. "I thought… I thought after yesterday… I might never see you again."

She looks at me over her shoulder. "I was in your shoes once," she says. "And there was no one there to help me."

"Do you remember your parents?" I ask.

She shrugs, pushing a finger to her lips, and points above us. Some of the windows in the side of the building are open. "Come on," she whispers.

We maneuver through the junk in piles. If we had met when we were younger, we may have played in junkyards or abandoned lots, and it would have felt like this. Skirting around huge behemoth pieces of junk and machinery haphazardly thrown together, mountains of trash beginning to steam as the morning light touches them.

"Is… this where the cannibals are?" I ask quietly.

She shakes her head. "This is just Sakaarian trash. The landfills outside the city are even worse."

There's a footbridge over a chasm, and the churning gray waters beneath are full of trash and sewage. The smell is awful. She grasps one hand on the railing of the footbridge, followed by her other hand, and she walks herself across the small bridge, hand over hand at the railing.

"You okay?" I ask. I don't touch the railing. I don't need to.

"Don't like heights," MJ says shortly.

"Oh, okay."

She stumbles a little in her concentration, jumping off the last step of the bridge and landing on the hard dirt ground on the other side. When I step off, I find myself reaching for her elbow to steady her, but I remember yesterday, and I don't touch her arm.

"You sure?" I say again.

MJ shakes her head. "Like I said."

On this side of the bridge, a large warehouse-like building, sort of like a barn but more like a science fiction bunker, sits nestled between heaving stacks of trash. She jerks her head towards it. "She's in here."

"Thank you," I say quickly, walking up to the door. My heart pounds. How will Aunt May look? Will she still remember me? Or will she be like MJ?

I reach my hand up to press the button for entrance, when MJ catches my wrist in her own. "Don't, yet," she begins. "I mean - just - you need to prepare yourself for what you're going to see in there."

I turn towards her, eyebrows furrowing. "So, tell me what I'm going to see."

"Prisoners," she says. "Hundreds of them. Okay? It's not… it's difficult to accept. What you will see in there. I need you to promise you're not going to go totally crazy and like, Hulk out."

I feel my eyes growing wide. "How… how do you even _know _about the Hulk? How do you remember him?"

"The Hulk was a champion in the games," she lets go of my wrist. "Till he disappeared. _Everyone _knows about him. He's legendary."

"So you don't remember Bruce Banner."

"I don't know who that is. And the Hulk hasn't been seen for years and years." She frowns. "Don't distract me. I need you to promise you're not going to go absolutely crazy when you see your Aunt and vow revenge and escape and you rush back to the Hold and try to kill everybody there and blah blah blah…"

"I promise I won't make a scene," I say, unsure. "How bad is she? Is she getting fed?"

"It's not a question of whether or not she's getting food," MJ shakes her head. "It's how they keep the prisoners. Just remember, she can't… feel anything."

"Feel?" I respond with a sort of high pitch creeping in. "_Feel anything?" _I slam my hand on the button. "Being vague is _not _helpful."

A flash of hurt crosses her face. "I risked a lot to get you out here, you know."

"And I'm... really, really grateful! But if you're trying to _prepare _me for seeing something, you might as well tell me..."

"Hell," she responds lightly. The doors begin to whine and crank, sliding aside like a door in Star Wars, only the garbage truck version. "I wish I had some sort of Midgardian basis of comparison for you. But I don't."

I feel a skitter down my spine and step over the threshold. MJ is close behind me.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust in the darkness. It is like a barn; rows and rows of walled stalls, dirt floored paths between aisles. There's a right or a left on either side of me, with further aisles on either side, and one right in front of me.

I can see the distinct shapes of people through the chicken-wired windows, pressed shoulder to shoulder like old historical photos of prisoners in concentration camps. The air smells warm and dank like body odor. It's eerily quiet. If there is this many people in one place, I would imagine there would at _least _be a hum of conversation.

"Where is she?" I whisper.

"Number six, straight ahead," MJ answers tightly. "I'll go first. Don't look too closely."

"I don't think I can help that," I respond.

Her thin figure walks with some familiarity and resolute strength down the center aisle, passing by the first, second, third stall. I follow and keep my eyes on her back, her shoulders, the curls of brown hair tied back with an old twine. Today she's wearing long, light-red dress over black cargo pants and military-looking boots. Nothing fancy like before.

Her arms are distinctly bruised and rough-looking today. I wonder if they were like that yesterday, or if something happened to her between the spa-room and this morning. The thought of the unknown fills me with anxiety, spiced with displaced rage on her behalf.

I keep glancing at the corner of my eye, but trying not to. Finally realizing _what _I'm seeing makes me stop in my tracks.

People pressed shoulder to shoulder in rows, hanging in some sort of black harness from long lines of pipery running through the open ceiling plumbing across the whole ceiling of this barn, interspersed and attached to the rafters. The black harnesses aren't really _harnesses, _not like something you'd use for parachutes or zip-lining.

I don't know what they are. They appear to be connected to them, as much as holding them a few inches off the ground, as if they are gutted pigs lined up in a butcher's shop for mass production. Dark cords wind from the mechanism into their forearms, like an IV, into their throats through their mouths like oxygen masks, and some sort of console or reader-board hangs on their chests with vitals in symbols and languages that I don't understand. A sort of IV cylinder hangs above each person with a bubbling liquid inside. All these wires and connections hang above them, connecting to the piping.

They're all sleeping, heads hanging limp, chins to their chests. The bodies look in various states of perhaps the way they arrives - some bloody, scratched, muddy and battered. Clothes torn, hanging, damaged or missing.

I let out a sort of strangled breath. "Oh… no, no, no…"

MJ has stopped. I've stopped too, only because I think I might be sick.

"Number six," she says softly. "Remember what I told you. She can't feel anything. She's just sleeping. They keep them in a stasis like this until they can sell them as slaves or put them to work here."

I shoulder past her into the open stall. There's no doors or locks. They wouldn't need them, after all. The people lining each stall, five rows of six, all hang in quiet comas. Some of them aren't even human. I spot the blue skin of a Kree, the green skin of something else that I don't know. A pointy-eared Centaurian, and golden Sovereign. The rest are human - or appear human.

My whole body is shaking as I move down one row, turn, and go back up the next row.

Aunt May hangs in the third.

A horrible sort of gurgle of grief bubbles up my throat and nearly makes me scream, but I swallow it down quickly. Her head is dropped, her long, dark hair hanging dirty and matted in front of her face. She's still wearing the same clothes she was wearing the day we were taken - blue jeans, a floral top, white tennis shoes. The sweater is missing.

Her clothes are hideously dirty and frayed, scratches and mudstains across every surface. The places where the wires enter her forearm are bruised yellow, her fingernails dark with dried blood. Probably not hers - she fought and fought hard, probably scratched up one of the abductors really good. Even if she couldn't remember who she was, surely she would have walked into a place like this and fought as hard as she could to get away.

I feel sorry for whatever horrifying fear she might have felt when she couldn't get away.

I move her hair away from her face, nearly gagging again with gut-wrenching horror. Her face is bruised too, huge and painful scabs of dried blood on her forehead and scalp.

"Aunt May," I whisper quietly. "It's going to be okay. I'll get you out. I promise." My voice breaks entirely. "_I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."_

I move her hair behind her ears, and carefully lift her chin gently into the air. The mask on the lower half of her face makes a slight creaking sound, and the bubbles in the hanging cylinder seem to guzzle a little faster.

Her eyes are black with purple bruises and smeared makeup, the mascara dried in black tears running down each cheek. Whatever _coma _they put these people in, they certainly didn't do it soon enough. She's _suffered. _All of these people have. You can see it on each face.

They might be in some sort of induced paralysis, but it's not sleep. Sleep is restful. Each one looks as if they were frozen in a moment of absolute terror and then just dropped where they stood.

I examine the various cords hooked up to her body. Whatever they are, they're keeping her alive and complacent here among the hundreds. But they don't look clean, either. This looks like the most medically unsanitary environment ever dreamed up by a psychopath, storing humans for their various slave trades and gladiator games.

At least the gladiators stay in a prison cell full of bunks. Nothing like this.

"Is she going to be okay?" I manage to say, my voice hoarse. "Please tell me - whatever this is - it isn't killing her."

MJ appears quietly at my side. "She's okay. She doesn't know what's happening. When she wakes up, she'll have no memories of this. Only the moment you were both taken. Even that will fade away if she stays and eats and drinks here. It works on long term memories mostly. She'll remember her daily life as a slave - like I do - if she stays here."

"It's inconsistent..." I say. "So maybe it will be like Rocket! And Bereet! They seem to do just fine."

"It's because they're not human," MJ answers. "It affects humans more than anyone. And it's usually for slaves and other palace staff. They usually don't feed that shit to the gladiators… or favorites. _You _probably won't have to have much of it if you keep fighting. But if you're particularly problematic," she gives me a stern look. "If you give them a lot of trouble, they slip it in. So. Stay out of trouble."

There's a short silence.

"Do you have any water?" I ask.

"I wouldn't drink the water they give me," she says, and I detect a hint of sadness. "It's definitely tainted."

"It's not for me."

She quickly shrugs out of a light pack hanging on one shoulder, and removes a small canteen from the top flap. I hook my hands on the edges of my shirt and pull it up and off over my head, and accept the canteen from her.

"Thanks," I say, pouring water onto my shirt.

MJ stares just a half-second too long at my abdomen before turning around and walking back to the door. "I'll give you a moment."

I use my T-shirt like a rag to clean the dirt and makeup off Aunt May's face. There isn't anything I can do for her clothes, not while she's hanging in here like a piece of meat.

I try to clean off some of the blood and grime off her arms, too, but the wires going under her skin make it difficult. I'm worried I'll hurt her.

I put my damp T-shirt back on and screw the canteen shut.

"I love you, Aunt May," I whisper to her grotesque, scarecrow-like figure. "I promise I will get you out. I have to leave you here just a little longer while I figure out how we can escape. I _promise _you. It won't be long."

Her head droops limply, body swaying from where it hangs. I touch her face carefully, and I put both hands on her shoulders. I can't really hug her with this harness, nor would it matter if she isn't mentally _present _to hug me back.

"I'll come back," I assure her. "I'll…"

I pause, feeling more wires just beneath my fingertips on her shoulders. Confused, I walk around her, bumping into the hanging human man behind me. The pipes above us creak, the bodies sway.

There's even more wires coming out of her _back. _All along her spine. Every place where the wires are, plunging through her shirt and to the skin below, old blood and dirt all across her back and staining her jeans. The wires wind together and go up to the pipes, like an overly zealous cord junkie trying to connect audio, internet, TV and gaming systems all up to one power-strip.

"Shit," I whisper out loud. "Oh shit shit shit…"

Whatever _plan _I have for getting May out, it needs to include kidnapping one of the _professional _traffickers here at the barn and forcing them to undo this. There is no way I can go through and just… pull all these things out without severely hurting or even killing her.

They're plugged into her _spine…_

"Aunt May," I whisper, convulsively swallowing and moving to the front again. "If you can hear me. Don't be afraid. Please. I love you. I will get you out. I swear. I will."

The gagging I had managed to keep at bay earlier come in full force now. I rush out of the stall, drop the canteen to put my palms against my knees, and retch towards the barn floor. Nothing comes up - of course. I hadn't had anything to eat yet this morning, the untainted crackers from long ago.

I spit on the ground a few times, trying to control my breathing. It isn't really working.

"We should go," MJ says tightly, appearing again at my side. "It's getting late. They'll sound the wake-up call soon, and you'll need to be back in your bunk as if you'd never left."

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. "Are you sure?" I ask blearily. "Are you sure she isn't in any pain?"

She shakes her head. "I guess I can't be absolutely sure. But… I wasn't."

"Were you kept in here too?" I ask.

She nods and looks away. "Long time ago."

"How did you get out?"

"What do you think?" she gives me a look. "The Grandmaster liked my look. Wanted me in his palace-staff. So he had his minions unhook me, clean me up, and delivered me to him. I've been serving drinks ever since."

"And you don't remember anything before that?"

"Like I told you before," she says tiredly, "I might has well have been born the day I got out of this hellhole."

"You don't remember New York, or…"

"I don't know what that means."

"MJ…"

"Stop calling me that," she shivers, bending down suddenly and wrenching the canteen off the ground, stuffing it into her pack once more. "I'm Sendriel here. If you accidentally slip and _tell _someone that you knew me from Midgard, they're be hell to pay for you, and probably death for me. How do you _not _get that yet? So keep your mouth _shut."_

She grabs my elbow and jerks me down the aisle. I force myself to put one foot in front of the other, instead of lingering at the door and resolving to watch over Aunt May till they discover I'm missing.

MJ and I step out the door. The morning light has broken through the gray clouds, and the frosts have begun to melt, trickling down the trash heaps and muddy puddles running into small streams. The footbridge sways in a sharp wind.

I think of the cords coming out of Aunt May's spine.

I sink to my knees, right into the muck, tears of frustration and sickness streaming down my face.

"Come on, I thought heights didn't bother you," MJ says brusquely.

"It's not the heights," I say quietly. "Just give me a moment."

I brace one elbow up on the nearest junk that looks like an old washing machine tipped sideways and hoist myself back up. I take deep, central breaths and blow out through my mouth.

"What are you doing?" she asks confusedly.

"It's… I'm just breathing," I say shortly. "Trying to keep myself from having a panic attack."

"Does it help?"

"Some… times," I stutter, scrubbing at my eyes with my palm.

"Show me."

I hesitate. "Well. Okay." I straighten and reach over, palm outward. "Can I take your hand?"

Based on our conversation yesterday, she seems genuinely surprised that I ask, and then relieved. "Okay," she says, putting her hand in mine.

I take her hand gently and put it on my chest. She can feel my heart racing beneath my shirt, how overheated my skin is. "Deep breaths with me," I say. "In and out. In and out. Like this."

I press her hand beneath my own, and she follows my breathing. Her lips part to exhale, shut again to inhale through her nose.

I fold my other hand over ours. Both keep hers at my chest, rising and falling, the rhythm growing slightly more rapid as I try to quell my own panic, and then suddenly realizing the additional jolt of adrenaline rushing through me at her touch.

She tugs on her hand, and I let it go quickly, feeling embarrassed. She lets both hands hang at her sides. "I have to go," she says. "Can you find your own way back? Through the panel, and replace the vent. Don't get seen."

"Yeah. I can do it."

Without another word, she turns and rushes away from me.

I feel instantly cold without her standing so close to me. I think about Aunt May hanging in that pen with hundreds of others, suspended in that dirty agony.

I bend my chin to my chest and let out a short sob, indulging in that fear and grief for a moment.

...

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...

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**Review Replies**

warlocktoungue - that's SUCH A GOOD QUESTION! I tried to work an answer into the narrative as well to lessen confusion, but I will explain more here as well. This is where a bit of a translation between film and story is difficult. In the Spirited Away movie, Haku and Chihiro lose their memories because they are both from Japan... the real world. Haku gives Chihiro a berry to eat that helps her remember her own name and her parents, because she starts to lose all her memories just like he did. The movie never explains why he doesn't just eat a berry, too! Maybe it was too late for him, and he tried, and it didn't work? Or maybe because he's a river god and not a human? Like any fairy tale, "true love" helps him remember his true identity. I'm not going to do that in my story, it just wouldn't work in an MCU setting. Characters like Lin in Spirited Away look human (like Bereet) but they aren't human, and they are "natives" of this alternative universe. So in translating the plots here, I imagine that people from Midgard specifically are very badly affected and are purposefully given more tainted food and drink to keep them compliant. Rocket doesn't have the same body chemistry and neither is Bereet because neither of them are human. Hopefully this answers your question! I love your attention to detail!

EleanorGardner - thank you so much for your reviews, I am so glad you are enjoying! Peter is totally a cinnamon roll! I love it.

LoonyLovegood1981 - Yep, you're not too far off from that! I think Peter's going to have to have a few escape attempts before he finally gets away! Even though I'm enjoying writing this story I wish I could fast forward to my happy ending. It will be quite refreshing to have a major happy ending story without any major character deaths lol. Thanks for reading :)


	11. Erased

**...**

* * *

**Erased**

* * *

I stare across the table at the raccoon. His ears are facing back, like he's sad.

"We all get hungry enough sometime, kid," he says. "Feel better now?"

"My stomach hurts," I say slowly. I also feel chilled along my spine and arms, but when I look down, my skin is flushed, and perspiration drips down my forehead. "I… I… who are you?"

"The name's Rocket. We're - coworkers," he replies, snout wrinkling. "You just ate some stuff that took away your memories."

I stare at the empty tin in front of me. I look around the room; a cafeteria, of sorts, long tables in rows, all manner of aliens and persons sitting with heads bent and shoulders hunched over their meal.

"Why would I do that?" I ask confusedly.

"You were starving."

"Starving," I laugh. "Why would I be starving if there's food?" I point at a bustling kitchen in an open bay window. "Clearly there's plenty of it."

"You wanted to keep your memories," Rocket pushes. "It's real important to you. You got people elsewhere who wanna get you home. _You _wanna get home."

I shrug. "Well, whatever they are, they're gone now."

"How much you remember?"

I blink. "Nothing." I open my mouth, and close it again. "Oh shit. Wait. Am I… I don't know who I am. Is that normal? What's wrong with me?"

"Do you remember your name?" asks the raccoon.

"I have no idea."

"Oh, shit, okay. Spider-Man? Does that ring-a bell? Hero from Midgard?"

"Um," I say, fighting off a snicker. "That sounds made up. Are you messing with me? Is this some sort of joke?"

Rocket reaches over and pinches my arm, hard.

"Ouch!" I yelp, jerking my arm back. "What'd you do that for?"

He tilts his head and makes a _hmph _sound. "Someone oughtta remind ya that you have powers. Shoulda sensed that off the bat I think. Maybe I should be more threatening."

I stand abruptly from the table. "I don't want you or anyone to be _more _threatening. No thanks. I'll just…" I pause and look around. "Um… where should I go from here?"

"You _sure _you can't remember shit? There's gotta be something. They usually don't dose you up that much."

I furrow my brow and think carefully. "Did I… did you and I work outside yesterday?"

"Sure thing," Rocket brightens. "Yeah, we got assigned to scraping nasties off the wall. You're sunburned."

The feverish feeling makes sense now. "We worked together yesterday," I say slowly. "And… that girl and I met in the morning before sunrise."

Rocket's eyes pop. "You did WHAT?"

I sit down with a huff, trying to recall. "Me and some girl. Met and something, I remember you and I working at the wall for a really long time…"

"It was all day," Rocket surmises. "You refused breakfast, lunch, dinner, and finally passed the eff out around sundown."

I sigh. "Well, whatever _memories _that were _so _important to me are clearly not that important, otherwise, I'd…"

"That's not how it works, pal!" Rocket exclaims. "It's who you are."

"Why don't _you _have this problem?"

"I ain't human." Rocket looks sad again. "Listen - humans are - well, you guys are sorta fragile, right? Can snap you like twigs. Probably the weakest of the bunch, I mean, people like Quill - I guess you don't remember him now, either - you people gotta eat or you die. You passed out last night and they put you in the infirmary and put some of that hydration stuff in you so maybe they dosed up your veins a bit too."

"How do you know all this?"

"Cuz after you dropped like titan's turd they let me follow you to the infirmary! I left you there last night sleepin' peaceful. Get here for breakfast this mornin' and here you are, snarfing down even more of that shit. And now your brain is a basket of scrambled eggs."

I push the tin plate away from me absently. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"Get to work like the rest of the rabble, I guess. We got another game tonight."

I brighten. "What kind of game?"

"Not the kind you smile at, you weirdo. The death kind. But you beat an abilisk before, so, what else could they possibly throw atchya?"

"I beat a what?" I ask.

"Okay, we need to do some serious re-edumacation of you. Let's start by reviewin' your super powers. I'm gona make you a list, dipshit. You'll need all the arsenal you can get."

I smile anyway. "So you're saying I have special powers and I get to play a game later? How is this not the coolest day of my _life?"_

Rocket heaves a huge sigh. "I have a suggestion for us."

"What's that?"

"A heist. We need untainted shit for you for at least a day."

"What's the point of that?"

"So that you don't effing _die _in the ring, you moron. If you can't remember how to use any of your special-little-gifts, you're just gonna run around in there like a blathering idiot and they'll make mincemeat out of you!"

"So you're going to steal me food that doesn't take away memories so that I don't die in a fight," I repeat hazily. "And why would you do that for me?"

"Look, pal, I've never liked the Avengers, okay? They're bloated, self-important super-charged dickwads who think they know what's best for the galaxy at any given time. Me and my guys, we never pretend to be anything but what we are. No bull-shitting."

"The who?" I repeat. "The _what?"_

"Everyone felt real bad about what happened on Midgard," Rocket says. "Let's just say the Guardians sorta owe the Avengers a few favors."

I don't know what he means. That frightens me, but I square my jaw and nod firmly. "Okay, well," I say steadily, "Maybe you and I make it right, huh? Bridge whatever animosities between the two clubs?"

"We're not - yeah, okay. Operation bridge the clubs is a go."

"So the planet Midgard had something bad happen…"

"You needed all the help you could get. The Guardians had an opportunity to get there and help, and - we didn't."

"Why not?"

"For one, I didn't _want _to," Rocket says. "Quill was four hours late, Drax was with him doing whatever he said. Groot was with me, doing whatever the hell _I _said. Gamora and Nebula had the communicator's turned off - sister retreat or whatever shit that is. Mantis is prob'ly the only one who tried to get there as soon as she could, but really, what can empathaticals do for total destruction?"

"Is there… is there a test later?" I sigh. "You just said a _lot _of names…"

He exhales with a frustration groan. "This Peter is so much _needier _than the last one. Am I gonna have to hand-hold you through the whole flippin' thing?"

"I don't know," I say, equally frustrated. "I don't know what's happening, I don't know who I am, I don't even know who you are or why I should trust anything you're saying…"

Rocket's eyes blink with a realization, and he pulls a small object from his pocket. He slides it across the table to me, and I pick it up, holding it in my fingertips to bring to eye-level and examine.

It's a small keychain, a token or a coin of some kind. It's sealed in transparent resin Written on the back in black, thick letters is the name _PETER PARKER._

"This is my name?" I ask.

"That's _your _good luck charm. I nicked it outta your pocket in the old clothes you stuffed in your bed. Hang onto it. Maybe it'll help ya remember some shit. At least a day or two of normal food and some things'll start to come back to ya. I think."

A bell rings at the far end of the room; the electronic, alarm kind. The hum of the crowd changes abruptly to the clattering of dishes and the shuffle of getting off the long benches and aiming for the door. A lot of them were gray coveralls, like me.

I put the keychain in my pocket. "So what now?" I ask.

"We work till we don't. I'll see you later this afternoon. We'll see if we can't steal you some stuff." He narrows his eyes. "And don't go havin' secret meetings with girls. That's the kinda thing you get banished for."

"Don't we want to get banished?" I ask hazily. "You said you wanted to escape, didn't you?"

Rocket's face lights up with a huge, wicked grin, canine teeth sticking out. "So you _do _remember something! I said I wanted to escape - two _days _ago."

I feel relief flood my core. "Oh… that's… that's… good. Maybe my memories aren't quite gone."

"We'll see." Rocket hops off the bench and walks upright, a weird sort of skitter to his movements, like maybe he _shouldn't _be walking upright. Like it's not natural. "I think you're onto something," he whispers. "Maybe we _do _want to get banished. When you're a bit on the short side and unarmed, those cannibals are the big worry - but - maybe a super-human _and _a very angry Guardian… maybe we could take 'em. Maybe that's our ticket outta here."

I nod secretively. "What do you want _me _to do?"

"Nuthin' yet. We'll need to sit on this. Make a plan. Get that aunt of yours."

"My… aunt?" I repeat. I feel as if someone has punched a hole of pain into my heart, but I can't figure out why. "I have an aunt?"

"Well shit, kid, I don't know much about your history, but do I gotta walk you through the whole damn family tree? You gotta aunt, okay, and you love her and whatever, and you won't leave without her, blah blah blah…"

"That's what I said?" I point at my chest. "Are those my words?"

"Indirect-ally quoted, but sure…"

I shake my head a little. Brain full of mush and webs. I wish I could remember. I wish I knew what Rocket was talking about… I wish it wasn't so confusing. And now I have an aunt. I trust Rocket, because, what other choice do I have… but now he's telling me there's someone I can't, and won't, leave without. Who is that?

I look at the token keychain again in my hand. _PETER PARKER. _It stirs a sense of loss in the pit of my stomach. I close my fist tightly around it. If Peter Parker swore he wouldn't leave without someone, then they must be important. Even if he basically doesn't exist anymore. I can honor him somehow by making sure his aunt his safe.

"I'll help her," I say slowly. "If Peter Parker wanted to save someone, and he can't, then I will."

"You _are _Peter Parker."

"Parker two point oh," I sigh with a dry huff of frustrated ignorance. "He might as well be dead if all those memories are gone. I'm the new guy. I guess I can try and pick up his pieces."

...

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...

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**Next: **Peter Parker, lost and erased of his memories, has a lot of quick-learning to do if he's going to survive the next gladiator combat...

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**Reviewer Replies**

Tightpants182 - I definitely made the mistake of googling H R Geiger and was absolutely traumatized hahaha. At first I was like oh yeah dark imaginations lol yeah we have those but then when I saw his drawings I was like, damn, that is a whole other level of disturbed! XD I was definitely picturing something more like the centipede project in Agents of Shield! Where the metal pieces just sort of, stab or click in to their neurons and what not. That's kind of hilarious but also I'm sorry hahahah. Thank you for your review! AS ALWAYS!

purpleflame2 - I never know how to respond to a one-word review that could be totally good or totally bad haha. It's like Schrodinger's cat. It could be a "great, awesome" wow or a "terrible, I hate you" wow. XD But either way, thank you for reviewing. XD Hugs!

EleanorGardner - I know, POOR AUNT MAY. I feel so bad for her. I can't wait to write her OUT of this situation! Thank you for your review!

* * *

**Other Marvel Stories**

* * *

Into Oblivion - Peter Parker finds an infinity stone in Benjamin Parker's old possessions, and it's up to him to get it to a safe place - or better yet, have it destroyed. The mad titan Thanos and his defeat by Captain Marvel is now a legend, the world is ending from poisonous alien gas, and it may be up to Peter and his friends - and the rest of the Avengers scattered across the galaxy - to save the universe once more. Based on Lord of the Rings set in the MCU universe.

Avenge the Departed - Undercover crime novel starring Peter Parker, Deadpool, Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes and Captain America. A deeply intense thriller set in New York where Peter Parker goes undercover in the Vulture's crime syndicate, Deadpool and Captain America are unlikely partners, Bucky Barnes is a winter soldier acting as a puppet for Hydra while planted with the good guys, and Tony Stark is just trying to keep everything from going to hell.

The Vast Marvel - collection of Marvel one shots! I suggest adding this story to an "alert" for when I post short drabbles!

Deadpool is Pissed - humorous one shot featuring Deadpool, Peter Parker, and Korg keeping guard over a motel balcony.

Down Came the Rain - my first fully fledged Spider-Man fic, starring other Avengers as well. Peter is kidnapped by a rogue NYPD cop, tortured for information on the Avengers, and released. He copes badly with the psychological aftermath. Interlude book between Spider-Man: Homecoming and Infinity War. Told in flash backs and flash forwards like 13 Reasons Why.

Down Came the Rain Retold - a repost of the above fic, and may I say, the far superior version. Told chronologically, scenes are added and expanded, plot holes and timelines fixed, characterization added... easier to read, track with. Plot and character growth is more obvious.

That One Time Peter Parker Accidentally Did Cocaine - yup, based on another crazy dream I had. One shot. Title is exactly how it sounds haha. Peter does drugs, and his totally (alive!) Dad is not happy about it - for more reasons than one. Tony Stark is even worse.


	12. Brain, Brawn

**...**

* * *

**Brain, Brawn**

* * *

_"Rocket, I don't feel so good."_

_"Of course not you moron, you haven't eaten all day."_

_"If I eat, I'll forget Aunt May."_

_"If you don't eat, you'll starve to death and then no one will rescue Hottie Auntie. Is THAT what you want?"_

_"Um… hm…"_

_"Petey?"_

_"Ugh."_

_"Don't you fu - don't you fall off this right now! SHIT! DON'T YOU FALL OFF THE…"_

_Thump._

_"Well, SHIT. Spidey-boy? You awake? Hello? Crack-nuggets. He's out. Someone call the frickin' medic or some shit."_

_..._

I crank my neck backwards against the beating glare of an alien sun. A hot, liquid white light is shining from the bleached sky onto a barren plane of a flat horizon made of nothing but dirt.

It's summer on a planet called Sakaar… where I am a slave, and I don't know who I am.

"I remember falling off the wall yesterday," I mumble into the haze, staring at the long, wide field of brown dust in front of me. There is no one to say this to. I guess by voicing it out loud, I hope to commit it to current memory. And make it stay.

My brain says the flat landscape ahead should be green. It would look better green. It should have grass. Flowing in a cooling breeze, turning yellow with the exposure to heat.

I don't know where that image comes from. I don't know why it makes me sad.

Today they took us in vehicles that didn't have wheels. They floated above the ground, like… something. Maybe I had a basis for comparison on Midgard. A shrieking, speedy landspeeder tossing tendrils of dust behind it, between two barbed fences guarding the road's passage from landfills outside the city where the cannibals supposedly roam.

Now, we're in Sakaarian countryside. Not surprisingly uninhabited, but will soon be. We're digging long trenches in the nothingness. Trenches to eventually lay pipes and from there, professional crews will come in… start building more buildings. More lopsided, neon-plastered skyscrapers with smokey alleyways and slaves trimming the hedges.

Six hours of this till we're taken back into the city.

I don't spot the raccoon from this morning at breakfast, which makes me sad. I felt like I had a friend, at least. Okay… casual acquaintance.

Someone stops me when I walk into the cafeteria. A girl. Beautiful, dark eyes, curling hair, a long dress of bright green. Green like the grass I imagined.

"You all right?" she asks.

I blink at her. "You're talking to me?"

"Yes," she says, already looking frustrated. She looks at my gray coveralls covered in dirt from head to toe, the black caked under my fingernails, the smudges across my face and hair stuck in unruly shapes. "They said they took the new guys outside of the city today. I wondered about you."

"Why?" I ask.

She pauses, mouth working over an answer. "You said we were friends."

"Oh," I nod. "I'm sorry. I don't remember. I forgot a lot of things. Did we meet yesterday? Just before sunrise?"

"Yeah," she looks disappointed. "That was me."

"Great," I reply eagerly.

"Shhh," she hisses. "Keep it down. We broke the rules, doing that."

"Oh - I'm sorry. We did?"

"We…" she pauses. "Do you remember my name?"

"Um…" I pause sheepishly.

A purple-skinned man with fur draped down the back of his skull and long, winding horns behind his ears struts by. "Heya, Sendriel! Good to see you!"

She nods briefly at him, smile straining.

"Sendriel," I say, giving her a shy grin. "I know - I cheated - it's a, uh, it's a beautiful name…" I stutter off awkwardly. "So do we, uh, like, hang out?"

She shakes her head. "You call me MJ," she whispers. "But that's our little secret."

My eyes widen. "Oh. Oh. We have secret names? What's my secret name?"

"Spider-Man," she replies. "But I still don't know what that means - and I guess you don't know, now, either." She purses her lips, her cheek twitching. "Pity."

She looks over my shoulder, spots Rocket heading towards us, and turns and walks quickly away.

Rocket whistles as he approaches my elbow. "Whew. She's a stunner. Looky - we got a little time before the game tonight to review watchya need."

"I don't want to play tonight… I'm really tired," I say, my voice distracted and lazy.

"Well, big whoop. You are forced to play. It's what they do. And you might die. So. I'm gonna go through your super powers here so you remember what to do."

Something clicks in my brain. "Hey, Racket," I say.

"Rocket!"

"Rocket, sorry! I, uh, could see that you were coming… I mean, not so much see as I could sense… like I knew you were coming without looking," I blabber through the insignificance of the weirdness, raising my eyebrows in a contrite, hopeful look. "Is… is that one of my powers?"

"Extra-sensey shit? That sure is, Bucko. Let's get some food and discuss the rest of 'em."

When we sit down at one of the long cafeteria tables, Rocket pushes my tray away from me just as I'm about to dig in.

"Hey," I protest. "I was digging holes all day in the dirt. I'm hungry."

"Remember that heist we wanted to do?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, you were gone. I took some liberties to do my own knicking." Rocket pushes a large wafer of bread covered with something sort of slimy across the table. "That is untainted sweet-bread from upstairs. Eat it before someone notices you don't have the same mash as erry'body else."

I fold it in half and eat in two bites. "Thurthks," I snarf at him sarcastically, mouth full.

"It'll give ya a head start on remembering things… especially since it's a game night. They don't let you eat before a game." Rocket's ears twitch eagerly. "If I can git you somethin' for breakfast too, keep you off the stuff for at least ten hours… maybe…"

"Why are my memories so important to you?" I ask.

"I'm highly offended!"

"I don't mean to offend you, Rocket. You just don't seem like… like you like me very much, so I'm not sure why you're being so helpful."

"Listen, kid, I'm going to break it down for you simply. One - I'm invested in keeping you less of a dumb fruck-wit and more of a Spider-Man, okay? An Avenger can help me get off planet, Mr. Doo-dad from god-knows-where enjoying slavery life on Sakaar will do shit. Secondly - no, thirdly…" He pauses. "Ah - nope, that's it. Those are my reasons."

"So you're the brain and I'm the brawn," I mumble.

"Firstly, it's weird that you remember Midgardian phrases but you can't remember your name. Secondly, I'm definitely the brawns and the brains here - you are my lackey. You're back up. You're a trailer bed. You are a hired piece of muscle and I fully intend on using you to get out."

...

_"You know I ain't gonna stick my neck out for you," Rocket says. "When I find my own way out, I find my own way out. I'm not gonna stay and play Operation Rescue the Idiots."_

_"That's fine," I say shortly. "When you manage to find some exhaust vent and shimmy through, just do me a favor and tell someone we're in danger."_

_..._

I tilt my head. "I have a very vague memory of you telling me that you didn't want to be a part of… what was it? Operation…"

"Operation bridge the clubs, s'what you said," Rocket says. "Firstly, Guardians and Avengers ain't clubs, they're dysfunctional families… Secondly..."

"That's the third time you've counted your answers at me," I snap at him. "It's getting really annoying. I don't need you to count every sentence."

"All right, Mr. Cranky…"

"And that's not what I was referring too. Something longer ago. Maybe two, three days ago. Operation Rescue the Idiots. You said no. You said you didn't want to help me. That you would escape just fine on your own."

Rocket shuts his mouth, his snout wrinkles with dislike. His eye-color spikes and narrows. "Fine," he says, a curl around his lips, showing off sharp canine teeth. "Fine, you called me out. I've been tryin' to escape, or at least tryin' to plan an escape. But this place is locked down tight. If I coulda escaped alone, I woulda done so ages ago."

"How long have you been here, anyway?"

"A month," Rocket replies. "And it ain't no picnic. Tryin' to get away from this place."

"And when did I get here?"

"Only a few days ago."

"And the girl?" I ask, lowering my voice.

"Who the hell knows? She's been here longer than us. I think if my calca-lations are correct, she went missin' in the Midgard thingy - two years ago?" Rocket pauses. "Why is that important?"

"I'm just trying to figure out what happened…" I tilt the metal plate, now empty, towards my face. A stranger stares back in the reflection.

A yearling expression. Immature, young, but growing up, a hard jawline of determination and loss, grief and disappointment in Peter Parker's eyes - my eyes, I guess.

_Who are you?_

_What have I lost by not knowing?_

After we eat, they put us to work in some sort of underground room of machines. I lose track of Rocket in the noise. Large, metallic machines churning up and down and pipes and vents and air ducts. I ask someone what they are, they say it's the heating system. The Grandmaster likes heated floors.

We're given small scrubbing brushes and asked to scrape and clean black muck growing in the crevases of the metal couplings.

I lose track of the time in this mindlessness. I feel empty, hallowed out. No memories. Maybe if I were bored with this work I would think about ways to escape, or think about people that I love. I can't remember loving anyone, and I don't know how to escape. So there's nothing to think about.

Just mind-numbing scrub-work for a few hours. Till it's time for a game that could kill me. I still don't get why they call it a game? Doesn't game mean fun? Almost-dying doesn't sound like fun! Maybe my memory is worse than I thought. Maybe games mean danger and death.

It's tempting to just drop a brush and run for it, but there's guards at the doors. I see someone try to leave before their shift is over, and the guards hit a trigger in their hand, and the person drops to the ground, writhing with electric shocks.

I don't want that to happen to me.

_Cling, cling!_

A bell goes off to tell us to move out. I'm pulled aside by a guard, who I feel like I recognize. Maybe he guarded me yesterday - he has gills. I'm relieved to see something familiar, and I give him a big smile.

"Good to see you again," I say, hoping it's true.

He pops his open-palm on the back of my head with a painful smack and hisses "Keep walking!"

They put us in a chamber, golden lights and old, worn, metal panels. The hallway is round - I think. Dizzying, like my thoughts after a long conversation with the raccoon about my powers.

Rocket described super strength, super jumps and flips, technology with web shooty thingies that I no longer possess on my person… the ability to climb walls and duck out of the way. That extra sensory sense. I'm floored by it. I don't believe half of it.

I'm sure Peter Parker had this all under control - knew what to do - knows what to do, buried deep inside. I just have to try to remember - this guy that I was before.

"You don't know me today," says a woman leaning against the wall, with dark, curling-gold hair and dark pink skin. "I'm Bereet."

"Oh, hello," I say. "Are you fighting too?"

"I work here."

"Me too."

"No, I mean I actually work here."

"Oh, you're not a slave."

She wiggles a trigger for the electrocution shocks in her hand. "I don't like it, but I could leave if I wanted."

"Why don't you?"

"I needed a job," she says. "It's called staying alive."

"You said that before," I say vaguely. "Didn't you? That sounds familiar."

"Maybe," she says, that voice traced with an accent circling the Rs and arching over the vowels. "I don't remember, nor do I care." She smiles at me, her teeth looking sharp in green lipstick that contrasts strangely with the magenta skin. "I'm learning how to use electronics."

"Um… that's - that's awesome. Great. Good for you." I pause. "What electronics?"

"Oh, you know," she smiles, "Things on Sakaar. How things work. What panels turn things off. What turns them on. What detaches."

I touch the small metal circle embedded in my neck. "Like these?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"I CERTAINLY WOULD," says a booming voice from another figure hunched on the floor. An alien from Golemdaal, built like a massive clay figure with arms and legs as beefy as logs. His skin is a bright, terracotta orange, his armor a beaten copper. "Tell me, witch," he calls out, straightening to his full height and walking towards us. "What manner of devices can you control?" His face looks like a strange statue figure come to life, but his mouth doesn't look cohesive with his words.

Bereet cocks up one eyebrow, and backs towards the door, slapping her palm against the cross-hatch pieces soundly - three times. A signal to _open up._

"I shall take that as my cue to leave," she says. An impossible beat of silence follows, and the golem laughs cruelly.

"Tell me what you know," he roars, and I step between them quickly.

"Leave her alone," I say.

The door slides open just then, and Bereet steps backwards out of the hall. "Good luck to you," she says with a trilling laugh, more nervous than mocking.

The panels slide shut again, sealing us in.

"Are you from Golemdaal?" I ask the chestnut-colored figure excitedly.

"Yes?" he replies. "What is it to you?"

"I remembered something on my own!" I squeal happily, and the golem punches me right in the face.

...

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...

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**Next: **What could he possibly fight in the ring that is worst than an abilisk?

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**Reviewer Replies**

purpleflame2 - that is just the sweetest thing. Thank you! Much appreciated!

EleanorGardner - Thank you so much for your review! I am so glad you are enjoying!

* * *

**Other Marvel Stories**

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Into Oblivion - Peter Parker finds an infinity stone in Benjamin Parker's old possessions, and it's up to him to get it to a safe place - or better yet, have it destroyed. The mad titan Thanos and his defeat by Captain Marvel is now a legend, the world is ending from poisonous alien gas, and it may be up to Peter and his friends - and the rest of the Avengers scattered across the galaxy - to save the universe once more. Based on Lord of the Rings set in the MCU universe.

Avenge the Departed - Undercover crime novel starring Peter Parker, Deadpool, Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes and Captain America. A deeply intense thriller set in New York where Peter Parker goes undercover in the Vulture's crime syndicate, Deadpool and Captain America are unlikely partners, Bucky Barnes is a winter soldier acting as a puppet for Hydra while planted with the good guys, and Tony Stark is just trying to keep everything from going to hell.

The Vast Marvel - collection of Marvel one shots! I suggest adding this story to an "alert" for when I post short drabbles!

Deadpool is Pissed - humorous one shot featuring Deadpool, Peter Parker, and Korg keeping guard over a motel balcony.

Down Came the Rain - my first fully fledged Spider-Man fic, starring other Avengers as well. Peter is kidnapped by a rogue NYPD cop, tortured for information on the Avengers, and released. He copes badly with the psychological aftermath. Interlude book between Spider-Man: Homecoming and Infinity War. Told in flash backs and flash forwards like 13 Reasons Why.

Down Came the Rain Retold - a repost of the above fic, and may I say, the far superior version. Told chronologically, scenes are added and expanded, plot holes and timelines fixed, characterization added... easier to read, track with. Plot and character growth is more obvious.

That One Time Peter Parker Accidentally Did Cocaine - yup, based on another crazy dream I had. One shot. Title is exactly how it sounds haha. Peter does drugs, and his totally (alive!) Dad is not happy about it - for more reasons than one. Tony Stark is even worse.


	13. The Second Battle

**Content warning: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE**

**...**

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**The Second Battle**

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...

The crowd roars when I step into the ring.

Oh-kay. So. I guess Peter Parker's last venture was pretty… popular.

My face still throbs from the golem trying to punch me in the face, but something triggered in the back of my brain that helped me move out of the way last minute. His blow glanced off my cheekbone instead of breaking my nose, which would _not _be helpful right now. Still, it stings.

I don't know what - or maybe knew, but didn't quite understand - what made me sense it was coming and move out of the way.

_I don't know myself, _comes an unbidden thought. _If that's even me at all._

So everyone tells me I'm Peter Parker and I just… believe that? How am I supposed to know anyone tells the truth?

The crowd screams with anticipation as the gate at the far end opens, and the loudspeaker announces in a lazy tone that the games are beginning whether we're ready or not. I'm confused, I'm lost, I'm…

Staring at myself?

Another me emerges from the open door on the other side, someone who looks just like -

_Peter Parker, _I think hazily. There must be some mistake. _That's _Peter Parker, that's the one the raccoon misses, that's the one desperate to find his family. It's gotta be. I'm just some guy that lives here with amnesia. That's the one they're looking for.

That's the guy I have to kill.

_You don't kill, _says another thought.

"I will if I have to," I whisper.

_But you don't want to._

"So be it," I hiss to myself, running with an awkward, sloping limp towards Peter.

Peter stares at me with a hardened expression, brows furrowed and angry. He must be mad that I look just like him. Mad for taking his place, probably. Pissed off that I befriended his raccoon.

I stop within a few feet of him, confused about how to go from here. They gave me a few weapons - withholding the kinds with range. Nothing that _shoots._

"I'm sorry," I say, "I guess we have to fight now. But I don't want to hurt you. Let's give them - a good show, huh? What do you think?"

"If you're dead," says Peter back to me, "If you die, I get to go home to my family. They promised me."

I blink confusedly. "The aunt, right? Your aunt? Peter Parker's aunt?"

"UM," says a voice over the loudspeaker, "HELLO. YES. Grandmaster, here. I'm sure these good people did not come to watch a pair of twins stare at each other. We came for a good fight, didn't we? Didn't we all?"

The crowds thunder with applause and noises of agreement.

"It's you or me," says Peter. "You're just another one of their puppets. You deserve to suffer as much as they all do."

"I'm not a pup…" I begin, but I'm cut off by a _ZING _of chills, vibrating up my body and through my arm, making me sidestep a punch before thinking. Not just a punch, no - Peter launched his fist towards me with a cruelly-shaped serrated dagger in one hand.

I jump backward, bending down at the waist and twisting my body so that I come up under his arm, shoving my hards hard against his torso and knocking him back. He falls to the dirt, bending his knees at the last minute to throw himself back to his feet impossibly fast. He dives in with the knife again, slashing from left to right, but I'm bending side to side and avoiding each one, somehow, the timing so fast that it seems like I shouldn't, but I do…

The knife passes within an inch or two of my shoulder, but I'm already out of the way.

I guess I do have powers. But if Peter is the one with the powers, and that's me, than who is this identical person? The one who _remembers _his family? Rocket said that humans were the most susceptible to losing memories - so why does he get to remember his?

_Maybe he's not human, moron, _I imagine Rocket saying.

I punch Peter in the face, finally getting close enough without danger of the blade, because his arm swings wide and he loses his balance, toppling over and the knife falling from his hand. I swoop down and land hard on my stomach with an _oof _in the dirt, catching it in my hand and scrambling to my feet.

I have his knife now, and I have knives on my belt. Knives that they gave me. Knives that I haven't even pulled out yet.

Let's be honest I guess… _weapons I don't want to use, regardless._

I jerk my arm back and chuck his knife across the stadium as far as it will go. The blade glints in the stadium lights before disappearing somewhere in the dirt space - far away from eyesight, and yet I still hear a slight _puff _where it lands. Superhearing. Cool.

Now, I'm the only one armed. I still don't unsheath them.

The other Peter looks at me with that hard, calculating look as he tries to get to his feet, blood pouring out of his nose where I hit him, not pausing to catch his breath before he tackles me, knocking me into the ground, my spine hitting the dirt and my head _clonking _back. We completely grapple, all arms and legs, he punches me in the temple and I see black spots before I knee him somewhere, and he shouts incoherently, and I'm knocking him back over to my right. He's falling onto his stomach now, trying to get onto his hands and knees, then I'm flipping up over the top of his back - wrapping my arm around his throat, cinching up tight - tighter and tighter -

He taps out. I don't let go.

"I don't want to kill you," I whisper, "But I gotta make it look good."

My strength is superior and his legs kick rapidly under me. He hits my arms again, and again, but I don't let up. He tries to find something to grab, at my sleeves, my belt, my face - he can't find a hold. I feel him growing weaker, pausing, his breath slowing -

His body condenses and shivers, changing entire shapes and colors beneath me. I _freak _out with a "whoa, whoa, WHOA!" and let go - jumping backwards, scrambling away and stopping to watch with as much horror as the crowd shows unbridled enthusiasm.

Peter Parker, partially unconscious and gasping for breath, turns entirely _out _of something else and into another person.

An alien. Greenish gray skin. Pointed ears like an elf, dark-orbed eyes, arms and legs and body just like a human but a bit thicker, and wearing a purple-black streamlined jumpsuit.

"Kill the Skrull," calls the Gamemaster, bored. "Somebody has to do it."

The Skrull - what used to look just like me, and now looks more like a toy elf in a cool outfit - lays in the dirt, gasping for air, unable to stand. He tries to crawl away.

"Nobody has to kill anybody," I scream up at the viewing window, where I assume the grandmaster is watching. "I beat him. We're done."

The Skrull pauses in his attempt to be further away from me, dropping his face down into the dirt, his breath coming in and out by raking, grasping heaves. My heart drops into my stomach.

"I'm so sorry," I say, taking a step towards him. "Someone had to win…"

"Should have let me kill you, then," snarls the Skrull, each word a horrible rasp.

The crowd boos.

"We came for bloodshed," the Grandmaster sighs, "And found a love story. That's simply too embarrassing… it's just too bad, really. Too bad."

Then the Skrull pushes his hands into the ground, shoving himself up, struggling with horrible sounds to his feet…

The crowd _loses _it.

The Skrull turns to face me. He has my knife in his hand. I look down at my belt and find an empty sheath, and then back to him.

"Come on," I plead. "We don't have to do this."

"One of us dies," says the Skrull. "The one who doesn't goes home to his family."

"I don't remember my family," I whisper.

"Then do the honorable thing," says the Skrull. "Let me go home to mine."

_Maybe I should, _I think. _Let him go home to his family. A family that he remembers and loves. But what about who I can't remember? Rocket said I had an aunt to rescue. Who will help her?_

"I don't want to die," I say, and I hear the pain of it in my own voice, the acidic fear churning through my veins and stomach. "I'll have to fight you."

"For the love… let's get ON with it," says the Grandmaster. "Can we spice this up a little? Anyone? Someone. Release the next champion? Shoot them both?"

My spider-senses feel something before Peter Parker - before _I - _do. Something _warming up _with incredible heat. Grinding, churning to life, a high-pitched whine of sound - energy -

My heels barely have time to push into the dirt beneath me, I'm _flying _with as much speed as I could possibly have - dashing straight for the Skrull - whatever it is, it's aiming right for him - for us -

I see the confusion and fear in his eyes for that split microsecond, holding out the blade, thinking I'm attacking him - but I'm pushing him out of the way, the blade careening up the side of my arm anyway, cutting the skin - but I'm shoving him back, back - back - screaming _DOWN - _

_BOOM._

A mind-melting wave of fire and heat completely blindsides us, the dirt cascading upwards in a shower of clods and dust, fire pushing us off our feet and sending us in a shockwave across the stadium, falling to the ground, our ears ringing so hard that all other sounds bleed away…

I feel my body hit the ground _hard, _and I'm rolling over onto my back, trying to take in deep breaths and I _can't, _so I cough and choke and pound my fist into the dust next to me, tears streaming out of my eyes as I struggle to lift my head, too heavy to lift. They fired some sort of _canon _at us… we didn't fight, not like they wanted… so they wanted to kill us both…

I turn and look at the Skrull next to me, bleeding badly, burnt all over, his skin still burning, actively, bubbling and horrible smells coming from him.

I gasp with horror and finally push myself up to a belly's crawl, managing to get closer to him, reaching for him to try and stop - the wounds, the _crackling, melting skin…_ But I can't, I can't do anything, I don't know how to stop this. He's dying and suffering right in front of me.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, no voice coming out. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

The Skrull lets out a high-pitched, suffering cry.

The crowd screams with utter delight, and my chest hurts with it.

"You - tried - t'save…" the Skrull tries to say. "Me?"

All I can do is nod and look at him, weeping now. I put my hand on his scorched armor and bow my head, listening to him as he dies. His hand twitches on the ground, and I take it with my other hand, and I let him squeeze as hard as he wants to. Till the end, and his lungs gurgle, his life rattling away. Till his grip loosens and his hand falls.

He's dead. The cheers continue.

I immediately stand up, head pounding, ignoring the blood running down my arm, my graying burnt clothes, the dirt falling off me.

I look up at the window, and I don't say anything at all. I wait.

And wait.

"Oh, we have a victor," says the Grandmaster lazily, as if he had stopped watching ages ago and only just now tuned in. "Well done, young champion. You've been victorious twice now, so, you'll be granted special privileges. Private chambers - maybe - if you behave - won't he like that? Yes he would - preparing for the contest of champions - everything you could want, food, wine, women… get him out of here. Get him cleaned up. Throw him a party. Do whatever the hell you want. It's a PARTY."

I imagine he waves his hand absently as he says all this, the crowd roar deafening, relishing in the blood and death and mayhem and fighting and I'm exhausted - so, so, exhausted.

_I want to go home, _I think softly, like a little child. But I don't know where home is.

The door opens at the far end that I came through.

I turn and I walk without saying anything at all, the dead Skrull on the ground behind me like a dark ink blot in my extra sensory perceptions. A shadow that stays with me long after the door shuts and I can't sense him anymore.

...

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...

* * *

_Hello everyone! Sorry I've been absent for a few weeks. My life has just been so so CRAZY! I don't have time to do personal replies today, but seriously, you guys are all so amazing, and special thanks to my beta QueenofCrystallopia for reading through first and fixing things and fangirling and just being the best person ever._

_Sending hugs and love to all_

_Pip_


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